Widow Down
by Billiebee3
Summary: She thinks that her only meaningfulness in life comes from her job. She has no idea that the other Avengers might disagree. Natasha figures out that she is loved by those around her…whether she wants to be or not.
1. Clint

_Author's note: Here's where I have to state the usual bit about how I don't own Marvel or the Avengers or the characters or anything else that could get me sued…like anyone who does own any of that stuff would be sitting around reading fan fiction anyway. I hope you enjoy!_

I never thought it would come to this. She was too quick, too smart, too good for this to be able to happen. It just isn't possible. There isn't a man alive that can best the Black Widow. I should know; I was sent to kill her once. Even when I had the clear shot I couldn't, not after I had one real look at her. The Red Room might have messed with her as a child. They may have broke her down and brainwashed her and built her up for their own purposes, but even they couldn't best her in the end. After all, she was _the_ Black Widow. The spy assassin who liked to get herself caught _on purpose_ so that she could fool her targets into a reverse interrogation while getting tortured. She's lethal. She can handle anything.

I reach my hand forward, slowly. I'm not sure how to deal with this trembling wounded redhead. I'm not sure whether she'll calm down or literally cut off my hand...or if she'll recognize me at all in the state she's in.

"Nat. Hey. It's me."

I gently put my hand on her shoulder, ready to recoil it in an instant if she goes on the attack. I don't know what's wrong with her and I can't even begin to imagine what could have put her into this state.

She freezes up at the touch. Its something else that Black Widow never does. She doesn't freeze up. Well, that's it. Someone has either hijacked her mind Loki style and has her playing me (I've learned not to put anything beyond her acting abilities) or else she's probably dying. I can't wait any longer for my own sanity and decide to risk it, crouching forward and reaching down under her scrunched up legs and her back, lifting her little body to my chest. She is tense until I lift her and then finally she manages to focus her uneven pupils on me for a moment, after which she instantly goes as limp as a rag doll. I'm not sure if it's a good sign that means she recognizes me and just relaxed or if she's literally in the process of dying right then and there. That's when I start to sprint towards the pick up point.

By the time we get there I don't know if she's dead or alive. I'm running too fast to look down. I can't look. It would slow me down by that one millisecond that may make a difference when the medics get her. Honestly, I'm afraid to look down to check anyway because I can't even begin to process what her being dead would mean to me. It simply isn't an option. It must be a drug; I tell myself. Being drugged on some weird trip is the only rational explanation for all this. That means that the medics need to get her on something to get it out of her system. Now.

I focus my every thought, every muscle, every fiber of myself into the running. I don't allow myself to consider how cold or wet or scarcely dressed she is. I can't allow myself to think of anything except running to get her to the damn extraction point.

About twenty minutes and 5 miles later and I see finally see the damn helicopter. They are at least smart enough to know something is wrong and send someone to meet me as I approach. I'm in shape and a good runner, but I'm also pretty sure I just broke a world record for a 5 mile run and I barely hand her over to the two operatives, one of which I am grateful to see is a medic, before my legs turn to jello and I fall to my knees. The first opportunity my lungs give me to speak I yell out "She needs help! I think she's been drugged or something." Then I do my best to make it to the helicopter so they can take off. I don't want to waste any time. She probably needs drugs they might not carry in the standard kit.

I climb in, exhausted and collapse into the nearest seat, watching anxiously as the medics cut the ridiculously tiny excuse for a dress off my partner's cold, sweaty body. The phone rings and my fingers go to answer it automatically. Fury.

His eye patched face comes onto the screen and he stares at me as usual. "Agent report."

I'm still trying to finish catching my breath and I don't take my eyes off Natasha even for a moment as the medic frantically works on her, hooking in an IV and shining a light into her eyes, one at a time as she uses her fingers to open them.

"Agent down. I repeat, agent down."

"Romanoff?" Fury more states than questions, surprised by still calm.

I nod, though I'm not even sure if I'm holding the screen so that he can see me. "I don't know happened to her sir. I think she's drugged though and she has a concussion." I watch so tensed that my body physically hurts as the medic injects her with a shot of something and Nat wakes up a little. She opens her eyes and they seem to be wild, certainly not right. At first I think she might be okay. Then she goes ape shit crazy on the medic, slaps together her knees against the woman's neck who had just gave her the shot and twists. The whole thing is over before I can even blink and the only medic on board is on the floor dead. The Widow always did have lethal thighs. Fury says something, but I hang up the phone. If he finds out how unbalanced she is he might have her shot as soon as the plane lands simply to avoid more carnage. Agent Romanoff is deadly and if she is out of her mind and violent for any reason, it could easily mean the death of dozens before she either escapes or is put down. My money would be on escape, which is why it is with utmost caution that I even get near her.

"Nat. Nat. Natasha. Tasha. It's me. It's Barton. Calm down, okay? It's me." I reach out to her carefully as she remains lying on the stretcher cot thing that all these plans come with for when we get hurt, which is almost assured in our line of work. She doesn't respond, but she does watch me carefully, as if assessing whether or not to kill me too. My hand simply goes down to hers. I know better than to attempt to strap her down to anything. She'd have me dead long before I even had one wrist secure.

I take her hand gently and hold it, trying to communicate to her that I'm a friend. "Do you know what happened to you?" I ask as she continues to stare at me as if she might decide to kill me at any moment. She doesn't answer my question.

"Nat." I repeat, hoping that the nickname that only I use for her stirs some sort of recognition. I reach my other hand to her face, running the tips of my fingers down her cold dirty cheek. She allows it and I notice once again the obvious signs of her head injury in her pupils. "It's going to be okay Nat. I got you."

"Clint?" She finally asks, as if she doesn't really believe it could be me.

I nod. "Yeah. You're gonna be okay. You just need to tell me what they dosed you with." I say, trying to make the best out of this more lucid moment incase she falls unconscious again or tries to kill me.

"I don't know." She answers quietly, her eyes beginning to roll back into her lids and I take a firmer hold of her face.

"Nat. Nat! Do not go to sleep on me! You have to stay awake." I shake her forcefully, but it doesn't help. She's out. I can only hope that she wakes up once she's in a proper hospital.

It takes three hours for us to get her to a French hospital. She is rushed back, of course, but I don't have much to tell the team of doctors SHIELD had meet us here. Still, it takes another four and a half hours before they have her stabilized. Even then, they still don't know what exactly happened to her. Apparently, she was injected with some sort of hallucinogen and tortured. The news doesn't surprise or even particularly disturb me, honestly. There isn't much out there to be done to a person that the Red Room hadn't done to her anyway and she survived all that. I'm just relieved that she isn't dead.

I am a bit surprised to find the Captain here as he makes his way towards me. "I was on a mission a few hours out from here and heard. Is she okay?"

I nod absentmindedly, though I still feel a little disturbed at the memory of her curled up and scared the corner I found her in earlier. "Are you okay Barton? You look upset."

I shake my head. "No, it's just I found her in a mess earlier. Hallucinogens or a concussion or something."

"She was hallucinating?"

"Yeah. She killed the medic on the extraction plane. I just don't like seeing her so afraid. It reminds me of how I found her the first time." I say without thinking and then immediately regret it. How I found Nat is no one else's business.

"Well, I know that the Widow can handle herself, but its natural you would worry about her." Steve says without a second thought, as if my deeper concern for my fellow assassin is a given. I raise my eyebrows at him.

"That obvious, huh?" I let out with a breath, sitting down for the first time since the medic had been killed. Well, that does it. If Steve the boy scout can see through me like that then I can't have been fooling anyone.

Steve smiled softly, sitting down beside me and leaning forward towards the door to Natasha's room, his hands on his knees. "I might not catch on to a lot nowadays, but some things don't change. I don't know whether anyone else knows."

We sit in amicable silence for a while, his presence comforting to me, though I am anxious to see Natasha. As the minutes creep by, I get more and more impatient, which is strange; being a sniper I usually have patience in spades. Finally, Steve turns to talk to me again, probably trying to distract me during the wait. "You said Miss Romanoff was afraid the first you met her?"

It was an attempt at a conversation that I'm not at all sure I should have. He doesn't realize it, couldn't realize it, but what he was asking is actually very personal. I grimace and debate how much I should say.

"Agent Romanoff" I use her last name to try to add as much professional distance as I can "used to be in the hands of an organization known as the Red Room. When I first met her, she was my target to eliminate."

This obviously peaks Steve's interest. He sits up more and turns toward me, wanting the whole story, I'm sure. He won't get it, of course. It's too personal for me and even more so for Natasha. The truth is that she was a contract killer for an organization that didn't care about how many were killed in the process of getting what they wanted or what Natasha had to do to get it. It wasn't an accident that they picked such a beautiful girl to train, and they used her looks to their full advantage. Often, this meant sending her have sex with a mark in order to gain information and killing him afterward. After all, she didn't earn the title Black Widow for nothing. When I met her she had just finished doing her job in a very clandestine building full of politicians. She had succeeded as always, but apparently the men she needed intel from were real perverted creeps. Unbeknownst to her, I had been watching all evening, waiting with my usual patience for my clean shot.

I had seen a lot before then, but I had never watched anything quite like that. She had played her part well. No one would suspect she wasn't completely into three men on her at one time. Thirty minutes into it she had gotten more information from them than I would have thought possible. The Red Room had their intel alright and probably more than they had even needed at that. All three men were dead- killed almost at the exact same time; one with her powerful thighs around his neck, one with a knife through the throat and the third one's neck snapped with her free hand. All of them were gone in less than five seconds, naked and scattered on the large bed. Natasha was naked too and covered in all manner of filth before hastily pulling her slinky dress back over her chest and down to just under her bottom. Without a word or any sign of regret or discomfort, she slides off the bed and finds her shoes. The sight had intrigued me, but it had disgusted me even more.

As she exited the building into the back alleyway, with no one any the wiser that she was gone and the three politicians dead, I poised my bow. I waited for the perfect moment. The shot was clear and I almost send the kill shot when I saw her face for the first time she could be sure she was alone without any cameras watching.

For a second, her facade dropped. She doesn't cry, or do anything to voluntarily show weakness, even though for all she knows she's alone, but in that moment I still see her for real. I see through the act, however skilled an actress she was, and manage a glimpse at the small, too skinny teenage girl she was, who was standing alone in a darkened alleyway with blood running down her bare thighs that the ridiculous whore's dress she donned did nothing to hide. With no way to rationalize the action verbally to anyone, I found myself switching my arrow to a tranquilizer dart. Instead of shooting her into an early grave as instructed, I ended up climbing down to take the little killer back with me to my crap hotel room.

I bound her, stripped her of the one tiny knife she carried in an...interesting place, and I waited. When she woke up tied up in the corner of the room, for a second, and only a split second at that, she had that expression I saw on her today. Even back then, under all those circumstances, she hadn't been as afraid as I saw her today. What the hell had happened to her?

"I didn't." I end up saying simply, leaving it at that. Steve doesn't press; if nothing else, he is a true to God gentleman and polite no matter the situation.

It takes another two hours before the doctor comes out and asks in French if we're immediate family. "I'm her husband." I state plainly in English even though I understood them perfectly well. "This is her brother." I motion to the Captain. When the doctor looks confused, I roll my eyes and over enunciate "mari" as I tap my chest and then point over to Steve "frère." Steve is obviously confused; perhaps he doesn't know modern hippa privacy laws in first world countries. Still, the doctor glares at me and leads me to the correct room with the Captain following shortly behind.

"Elle est été droguée avec des hallucinogènes. Nous avons réussi à les nettoyer son système, mais elle va se sentir malade pendant plusieurs jours. Elle a été aussi sexuellement agressée. Nous avons couru un kit."

I nod, just managing to keep my facial features unfazed for Steve's sake.

"What did he say?"

"They flushed out some drugs from her system. She'll live." I leave out the part where the doctor told me she had been raped. Natasha wouldn't want anyone to know about that and it would only upset Steve. Still, it makes me sick and enraged inside. I file the information away for later when I find out the who to take it out on, if Natasha didn't already kill him, that is. She can handle herself, I think over and over in my head, followed by the grim thought that it sure wasn't the first time it's happened to her.

The room is small and standard and, from the looks of things, they haven't done much to clean her up except remove her dirty clothes and wipe her face. She is cuffed down to the bed with the restraints usually reserved for the mental patients and out cold. I suppose I can't blame the staff. She did, after all, just kill an innocent medic trying to work on her in the plane. Steve moves to remove them, horrified that they would dare strap down a lady, but I block his hand and shake my head. If there's one thing I know about Natasha, it's that she is capable of killing anyone. Me. Captain. Probably even the demi-god if the Asgaurdian ticked her off enough. It's better to wait for her to wake up and see that she's got a clear head before taking any chances. Of course, she could probably still escape the cuffs if she really set her mind to it.

I settle for simply pulling up a chair next to her bed and waiting. It's easier now that I can see her and can watch her breathing. The Captain remains standing nearby, silent for a long time before leaving to retrieve coffee.


	2. 2 Clint

Fifty three minutes later she finally wakes up, her eyes darting around the room, automatically trying to assess the situation and evaluate any sources of danger. I don't move.

"Mission incomplete?" She asks, the professional tone back in her voice.

I don't respond, but she knows my tells. "We're in a hospital in Paris. You were hallucinating when I got you."

"I'm not now." She states, glancing down to the wrist restraints that she obviously means for me to remove immediately. I bend down over her and unstrap her right wrist, then her left before lifting the covers up and getting to work on the ankle restraints.

She's got on the thin gown thingy hospitals always put people in and, while I don't think twice about tossing the cover aside to free her ankles, Steve makes a u-turn almost immediately upon coming in and seeing her exposed little body, whipping his hand up to cover his face as if she were totally naked instead of in a hospital gown.

"Sorry!" He all but yells. I grin at his blood red face and finish unbuckling her before replacing the blanket for Steve's comfort and just in case she's cold.

"Hey Steve." She says cooly before turning to me and muttering "How long was I out?"

"A few hours." I respond dismissively. She nods and seems relieved, sitting up a little and taking stock of her own body by stretching.

"What happened to you Nat?"

She acts like she can't remember. It's convincing, but I don't buy it. She looks at me, I look at her, she knows I know and I know she knows I know. She rolls her eyes and lays back down. "Mission went south. Got intercepted by a couple of old Red Room handlers that remembered me. I couldn't get the intel."

"Well, I'm glad that you're alright." Steve replies, relief evident in his tone as he walks closer and smiles. We all sit around in awkward silence for a while until Cap. gets a call in from Fury and leaves the room to report back to him and then excuses himself for another mission. As soon as he's gone Natasha flings off the covers and grabs the jacket I had discarded earlier on the back of my chair, throwing it on over her hospital gown and walking out of the hospital like she owns the place. I don't bother trying to stop her. I tried that once years ago after she had broken some ribs in the Congo and she broke three of my toes for it. I still haven't regained all the feeling back in one of them. It isn't until we're in the middle of the street in inner city Paris and I run in front and block her way.

"What?" She demands, shooting me the don't think I won't kill you in public glare.

"It's eleven o'clock at night. You've got no clothes. Let's just grab a room somewhere and level out." I know its weak. The Black Widow can manage on her own, but I plead with her for my own peace of mind.

"Level out?" She asks in a mocking tone. "I'll level out after I go level a certain village."

"Believe me, I'm all too happy to help you do that. Just give me two days." I bargain, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her to me in an effort to hide her state of undress from all the passerbys that are starting to take notice. She allows it, even when I begin walking and steering her toward an old inn on a nearby corner. It isn't fancy, but it isn't a rat trap either. I've stayed there several times passing through the city.

"One." She counters as we walk across the crowded street. I can tell she's tired. She's actually leaning on me a bit for support. When I feel her legs start to shake I bend one arm down and swoop her up against my chest for the second time that day. She glares daggers at me, but gives in. She knows she can trust me. I have her back.

"Two." I state firmly as I walk into the lobby and begin the process of checking in, explaining to the desk attendant that my wife had just checked out of the hospital after a surgery and needs to recovery for a few more days before making the trip back home to Moscow.

"Ах, да, я просто обычный маленький калека, не так ли? Чудаки." She mutters. I smile lovingly at her as if she was saying just how much she loved me rather than referring to me as a jackass and accusing me of calling her a cripple. The desk attendant looks none the wiser and simply hands me a room key and wishes her a speedy recovery in broken English.

"Я тебя ненавижу" _I hate you_. She complains as I take her up the two flights of stairs to our room. I smile.

"I love you too honey bunny."

"Я собираюсь убить тебя во сне, если вы не следите за его" _I'm going to kill you in your sleep if you don't watch it_.

I smile at her and begin to silently reconsider the wisdom in removing her restraints.

I unlock and open the room door without putting her down and carry her over to the couch, placing her on that before immediately heading to the bathroom to run a hot bath like her usually takes after a mission. I'm about to go retrieve her when I turn to see her making her way (slowly) to the tub by herself. She hands me back my jacket and I walk back to the bedroom, shutting the door behind me and then going about my usual security routine.

She comes out over an hour later in nothing but a towel. I don't want to leave her to go buy clothes though (not that much would be open this time of night anyways), so it's what she's going to have to make due with until the morning. Her face is wearing the same mask as always. I know better than to even ask her stupid things like if she wants to talk about it, so I just order the late night room service and have them bring up a bunch of things I know she likes.

"How'd you find me?" She asks halfway through our meal, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me with her feet dangling off and ankles crossed.

I shrug. "I'll always find you."

She doesn't reply, but seems to accept it. That's just how it is with us. If it were me who was lost she'd have came. We don't give up on each other and we don't leave each other behind. Hell, she wouldn't give up on me when a demi-god was in my head.

"Will you tell me who did it so I can put an arrow through his junk before you kill him?"

Natasha turns to me, looking slightly alarmed, but not quite surprised. "It's my business, Barton."

"It would make me feel better." I state, knowing how ludicrous it would sound to anyone else, but this is Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, and I know I'll get farther faster if I plead for myself rather than in her name.

"Fine. You can come." She doesn't need to add just don't get in my way, that's a given. I know her tells and, over the years, we've become masters at reading each other.

I push the empty cart away and go around to turn down the covers. We've posed as a married couple in more missions than I can count and it's pointless to spend the night on the couch when I've slept in the same bed as her plenty of times before. She goes to her side (always the one furthest from the door no matter where we are) and climbs in, removing her towel after she's under the comforter. I may have watched her have a foursome, seduce man after man undercover, and have slept in the same bed with her multiple times, but we can at least still pretend to have some modesty. I turn to go take my own shower.

It's four A.M. when I wake to feel my partner's body silently spring up. Within a second, I'm up with a gun in hand and the light is switched on.

"Sorry Clint. It's nothing. Go back to sleep."

Neither one of us can see in the bright room with our eyes adjusted for sleep so I flip the switch back off and put the firearm back down, but I'm too worried about her to just flip over and go back to sleep. Natasha never dreams. She's told me so and I don't think she was lying.

I set my voice firm and curt. "Okay. Tell me what they did to you, Nat. This isn't normal for you." I can see now, vaguely, in the shadowy dark with the lights of the city leaking in a little through the curtains.

Silence.

I roll my body over to face her. She's laying on her back, cheeks wet, and sleep in her voice. Despite knowing that she might kill me for it, I reach out and wrap an arm around her naked stomach. Honestly, I had forgotten she wasn't wearing clothes until my hand makes contact with her bare skin, but I don't recoil. Instead, I boldly pull her body back up to mine until she is flush against me and I'm holding her like I did when we were deep undercover as a married couple and I had the excuse. Of course, back then she'd worn sweat pants and a tee-shirt, at least. Now the only thing separating us at all were my boxers. Still, she doesn't protest or fight me. If anything, she seems to cuddle up to my body more, taking comfort in my embrace. Perhaps that's why I knew to do it. We can read each other, what the other needs; we have been able to for a long time. I bury my nose into her soft, fiery red hair that smells like hotel shampoo and take in a breathe to steady myself.

"Nat. You know you can tell me. You know I've got your back." Both figuratively and literally at the moment, I think.

"It was my handler from the Red Room. I'll be fine. It just reminded me of being there when I was all drugged up and confused and he was doing me."

I tense up at her casual way to describe being raped and then hold her a little tighter. I know sex is something she was trained to use as a weapon; trained to see it as a painful means to an end. To my knowledge she's never even had an actual date that was simply of her own free volition, but it still hurts me to be reminded of her reality of it.

"I wish you could know what it felt like to loved." I know it's personal, probably too personal to say aloud like I just did, but she has to know it isn't always like that.

"Do you?" She asks quietly.

"I've never made love to a woman, but I've had plenty of good times with them." I answer, realizing that maybe I don't know what I'm talking about either. "It'd be different if it was someone you loved. If it were someone who loved you." It's late. I'm not thinking strait or I would never say this stuff. I cuddle up to her as closely as is possible, not remotely turned on despite her being soft and warm and naked in my arms. It would be tantamount to me betraying her as everyone other man she has ever come in contact with has and I don't see her as a simple sex object. I pull up the covers to make sure they cover her shoulders completely and hold her as I drift back to sleep.

"болван" _jackass._ She mumbles sweetly.

"тоже тебя люблю"_ Love you too._ I mumble in her ear, not really thinking as I lose any conscious thought.

Her arm comes up to hold onto mine that I have wrapped around her "Я знаю, что вы делаете." _I know you do._

She sleeps soundly the rest of the night and into the morning...or at least I think she does. If she doesn't, she fakes it really well, but I know she can easily do that sort of thing if she wants to. I slip out of bed as gently as I can, leaning over to tuck her in a little better so she won't get cold without me there. The slight jostling is enough to have her reach to my gun, even if she doesn't bother to open her eyes or move other than that.

"I'm gonna run to the store and grab us some clean clothes, Nat. I'll order up some breakfast for you in the lobby on the way out."

"яйца и джинсы." _Eggs and jeans_.

The store I head to isn't far; nowhere that I can't make it back to the hotel room from in less than five three minutes if I run. Of course, I know all too well the enormity of situations that can occur in far less than three minutes and, with the widow as down as she is now, I don't want to take any more chances than I have to. I grab the the tiny size three jeans (or they would be size three, if we were in America, here there a 34), a black tank top, and a comfy looking jacket for her and jeans and a navy teeshirt for me before checking out, thankful to have the credit card shield issued me for situations like this; the last thing I want to do right now is go and deal with the cash currency exchanges. I also go to the lingerie store down the street since the last shop didn't carry underwear and I know for a fact that Natasha doesn't like going commando from a previous mission. I quickly buy her a sports bra and some cotton underwear and a pair of boxers for me and get the hell out of dodge.

The whole trip takes me less than twenty minutes and I come back to the room with toothbrushes from the lobby and everything else we might need before room service has even shown up with our breakfast. Nat's still out when I come in and toss the bag of clothes with her stuff in it on the bed next to her and go to the bathroom to wash up again and change. The shirt I had to wear from yesterday still has her blood smeared on it and is saturated with dried sweat from when I was running with her yesterday. I toss it in the trashcan before brushing my teeth and coming out to meet the room service.

She finally begins showing some real signs of life when I hold a steaming cup of coffee near her face.

"Я знал, что я вышел с вами по причине." _I knew I put up with you for a reason._ She sits up, pulling the sheet with her and I smirk. This is more like the Natasha I know.

We both silently sit on the bed and sip on our coffee for several minutes before she begins dumping out the clothes I bought her and I turn around so she can put them on with some semblance of privacy.

"Okay." She says when she's finished changing. I turn around and grab the plate of bacon and sausage that's left on the cart after she picked out what she wanted.

"So what are we gonna tell Fury?" I ask between chewing forkfuls of sausage.

"I'm finishing my mission. You're my backup. Simple as that. We'll need a flight back to Estonia and I'll finish the bastard."

"How did you get away from him before?" In the state she was in when I got to her yesterday it's amazing she didn't get shot.

She stills for a long moment, trying to recall and seeming to fail. "He was on me and then he wasn't. I was compromised. I don't know." She reaches up to her hairline on the back of her neck and feels around. "дерьмо!" Shit!

"What?" Immediately, I think of tracers and my fingers go to the spot her smaller fingers touched, searching for the tell tale lump. I find nothing.

Natasha breathes in deeply once, twice, and then she's convulsing on the bed in an epileptic fit. I hold her down as best I can and radio in to Fury. "Romanoff is down, I repeat The Widow is down!"

"I thought she was already down!" Comes the reply from the transceiver. I roll my eyes and grab her up as soon as the convulsions stop, taking her right back to the hospital. She was unconscious again.

"She's having seizures." I tell the front desk and Fury at the same time "saisie!" I repeat, annoyed that I keep having to go back and forth from English to Russian to French. My French is decent, but it isn't my favorite. I don't have the gift for languages that Natasha does, but as it turns out perfect French isn't necessary as she begins seizing again as soon as the word had left my lips.

They rush her back for the second day in a row as I try to explain to Fury what is actually going on. I had hoped to keep her getting assaulted quiet, but with all this going on I'm not taking any chances.

For a moment, Fury is quiet. "I'll send for transportation back to New York. You're mission is to inform me when she is stable and get her back to the avenger's tower in New York. Keep her there until she is fit for duty."

"What about the mission, sir?"

"Captain's already got a handle on it. I'll inform him to care extra care in making sure the mark is dead. I'll send a sniper to take care of any loose ends." I clench my fist around the phone a little harder. I wanted to kill them myself, or at least help Nat do it. I wanted to watch her back so she can take her time; cut them up slowly, perhaps. Steve will make it a clean kill. A quick kill. A soft kill that whoever is responsible for Nat's condition does not deserve.

"I know I don't have to tell you the consequences if you do anything other than those orders." Fury continues, apparently assuming my anger as a given. I also know that he has just assigned me the much harder job of the two. If Natasha is conscious, she's impossible to make do anything she doesn't want to. If I know Natasha at all, the last thing she'll want to do is fly back to New York and hide in the Avengers Tower and put up with Tony while she recovers. On the other hand, I'm probably the only one who even has a chance of handling her and her well being is more important than anything else.

"Yes sir." I respond, letting him know that I understand.

I go back to talk to a nurse. Thankfully, this one at least speaks some broken English.

"She your wife?

I nod. She gives me a pitying look. Great. "When will the doctor come out?"

"They run tests. They not know what the wrong is yet."

I sigh and resume sitting in the same place as yesterday. What the hell is going on? What's wrong with her? She was fine this morning. I know she's awake when I hear a scream and see a nurse running from the same direction they had taking Nat.

I decide that it may be wise to intervene when three armed security guards run through the lobby towards the patient rooms.

What I see when I reach what I assume is her room two guards on the floor, maybe dead, maybe just unconscious, and one's neck in her hands and she perches on the tip of the hospital bed. I hold my hands up to her in an effort to calm her down. "

Tash, Tash, it's alright. You had a seizure." Her eyes cut through me and she looks me directly in the eye as she twists her wrists and, in one quick sweeping motion, the third security guard is dead. My bow is in my hand as quickly as I can possibly get it there and I grab a tranq dart as the assassin remains frozen on her perch. At this point I have no idea if she even recognizes me, but I'm between her and the door and, if she's confused enough not to know me or what is going on here, I may be dead in a few seconds.

She begins to move, I counter. She poises to attack, I reposition myself. There is a long few minutes of this sort of behavior, as if she can't figure out how or why I can anticipate her movements. She's obviously confused, but how can I control a confused master assassin? For a moment, I'm sure she's about to pounce. Then her eyes focus in a way they weren't a moment ago and she just looks scared. Not to anyone else who might have seen her, of course. To an average bystander her expression would have been the same this whole time, but I know her too well for that. I know her tells. Right now, Natasha is afraid.

"Tasha" I repeat, hoping that this time I can get through to her. She sits back down fully and looks around at the floor to the dead security guards. Without a word I take the few steps up to her bed and hold my hand out to her.

What the hell is going on? I see the questions play out on her face plain as day.

I shake my head. There isn't time. People will come investigate any moment. She takes my hand and I escort her out of the hospital and back out into the street quietly, as if nothing had happened.

Whatever the hell is going on, I'm taking her home.


	3. Tony

We all knew that Birdboy was tapping the little Russian killer.

It was obvious. It had been obvious since the Loki incident when every action the crazy triple agent took circled around him. Underneath all the fifty layers of professionalism she projected I could plainly make out her desperation to get her archer back from the demigod. Plus, I saw the video surveillance of her 'interrogating' Loki. We all watched it together after the final debriefing, along with all the other footage of the god of mischief we had. Steve had hoped it would give some insight on how to deal with him should Thor fall through and he ever comes back. The Widow rationalized that it had all been a ploy, of course, but the way Barton stared at her after that clip spoke volumes and the way she absolutely refused to meet his eyes back gave away even more. No one gets anything by me and, from my seat beside them on the couch, I noticed the subtle way she leaned into him closer as we watched and the way his hand found hers, not quite hidden well enough from us by their legs. He kept squeezing it as if to communicate something.

Or maybe I knew even before that, when she was uncover as Natalie Rushman and wouldn't actually do anything more than flirt with me. How could she resist me if she wasn't already getting laid by someone?

No, Clint and Natasha sleeping together was no shocker. I didn't even blink when he asked me to have her stuff put in his room for when they returned to the avenger's tower. I wasn't shocked when he asked for restraints to be placed in there either. Anyone who took one look at that woman would know she was into some seriously kinky stuff. She was probably some kind of dominatrix to him and wanted the restraints so he couldn't move while she was doing her sexy who knows what.

I didn't become alarmed until he showed up to the tower with her, carrying her up against him like she was a small sleeping child rather than a sexy, lethal assassin. She was clearly sleeping and the birdboy just looked whooped. He didn't do anymore than send a nod in my direction before continuing on his way in the direction of their now joint bedroom. _Huh._

That was a week after the Capsicle called and informed me of the Widow's failed mission. I wasn't too sure at first what the hell she ran into that she actually needed Clint to go rescue her from, but judging by how effective she is at fighting me (admittedly even when in the suit) it must have been something pretty serious.

It wasn't until Cap called again, depressed and anxious sounding (more so than usual) to ask where they were that I really started to worry. The two Russians were taken out. Cap killed them himself and, for once, he oddly sounded like he actually enjoyed the killing. I wanted to know what had him so wound up that Mr. Justice for all would happily kill anyone straight out while not in a war situation, but all Mr. Spangly would say is how they deserved it and how men like that shouldn't be allowed to live. Then he would just keep asking if I had any news about Romanoff.

I didn't being to put the pieces together for real though until Fury himself visited later on that day with an expression of deep concern and even pity. When I go to knock on their door after that, Clint opens it and comes out quickly and quietly. It was clear he didn't want me seeing the widow or even into the room.

"Tony." He nods, waiting for me to say whatever it is I came to say. The door is cracked behind him and I crane my neck to see the nightstand overflowing with different sized medication bottles. What the hell is going on?

"Hey. I just came to ask what is up with Spidey." I say casually, hoping to break the tension written across the archer's features. Clint's expression goes stony and he takes another step forward, quietly closing the door behind him, but not making any move to walk any farther away from it, one ear still turned as if to listen carefully to whatever is going on in his room even as he talks to me.

"Natasha's resting." That's all he says. _Seriously? After everything that's clearly going on?_

"What, is she dying or something?" I joke, sure that it will be enough for him to at least reassure me that she had just broken a leg or something.

When his expression just grows all the more grim I feel my eyes begin to involuntarily bug out a little.

I clap my hand around his shoulder and try to turn him away from the door a little. Maybe he just doesn't want to get in trouble with his red-head by telling me anything. "Barton, man. You gotta tell me what's wrong. I saw that giant mess of pills in there and since when does the widow let anyone carry her around like some little rag doll?

"She's not a rag doll!" The man says all too seriously, a clear warning etched into his tone on a level that actually manages to frighten me a little. I don't know Barton as well as I do Cap, Banner, and the others and the mans is difficult to get a read on. He's totally calm and neutral until he's suddenly ready to murder someone.

When I hold up my hands to let him know I meant no real offense his features begin to soften. "It's Peripheral Neuropathy, Stark, and she isn't going to die."

The worry in his voice when he adds on the last bit, forcefully, as if it were something he intended to make sure of personally, throws me. She's seriously sick? What the hell?

"What does she need?" I ask immediately, my mind going to medical care and doctors and whether she's been to the right ones.

"She can't work." Comes his only response for a long few minutes, his voice clearly near cracking at the end of the sentence. The silence hangs in the air and the only thing I can think of is how Natasha Romanoff could ever possibly exist as anything but a master spy and assassin? Then I pull out my tablet and immediately look up the diagnosis with Barton still just awkwardly standing there.

_Long term. Seizures. Numbness. Muscle weakness. Muscle loss. Muscle cramps. Muscle twitching. Bone degeneration. Loss of motor coordination. Dizziness. Fainting. Confusion. Intestinal problems. _The list went on and on.

Shit.

"What caused this?" I ask, but Barton just shrugs his shoulders and looks down to his feet, defeated.

"The doctors said it could have been drugs she was given or a concussion or almost anything that's happened to her."

"Is that why she failed her last mission?" I ask without thinking.

At this, Barton sends me another warning glare. "I don't know. It might have caused it though; she had a concussion and was shot up with hallucinogens."

I nod, understanding that the time for all jokes was clearly over. "You know if you need anything...I can fly in the best specialists...or if you need money to care for her..." My mind goes to how expensive lifelong medical care could be verses what they might have saved up as agents. Later, I'd have Jarvis hack into Barton's bank accounts and transfer some money...how much would they need? I silently decide on a couple million just to be safe.

"We're fine." Comes his only response. I don't comment on the 'we', though I do find it interesting that he no longer apparently feels the need to even try to cover it up. I'm glad she has someone like him to take care of her. I take a breath, thinking of how I was going to break this to Pepper. Despite the rocky start, I know that Pepper has a deep respect for the Russian. After all, Romanoff is the only person who's ever been able to control me other than her, even if I didn't realize that's what she was doing at the time.

I don't ask to see her. I don't really want to. I don't want to see the woman I have equal amounts of respect and fear for laying in a bed like a little cripple drugged up and small. I know she wouldn't want anyone to see her that way anyhow.

"Steve killed the mark she was sent after." Is all I end up coming up with to say. "It was weird too; he didn't sound like himself when he called me after. I got the feeling he actually enjoyed killing the guy. Any comment on that?" I ask, still trying to piece together everything that is going on. Did Steve know she's sick?

Clint's expression changes into something unreadable. "Good." A beeping sound goes off on Clint's watch and I realize it's an alarm.

"I have to go." He says and I immediately understand that it's a timer to remind him to give her some sort of medication.

I nod a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah, go man"

Before I've even finished the statement, he's already gone and shut the door behind him.

_Fuck. _

I remain standing in the hallway for another long moment, reality sinking in. I'll never get to fight the redhead again. I'm going to have to tell Pepper. She would be upset. Should I send Romanoff flowers or something? No, she'd hate that. Then another sinking realization hits, perhaps even worse than the ones before. If she dies, Clint will die too. He'll be stupid and shoot himself or drink himself to death. Our whole team will fall apart.

Reluctantly, I head towards Pepper's office and begin dialing Banner's number.

* * *

It's two days later before I actually see the redhead and even then I don't go anywhere close. I just hang in the doorway and watch while they don't notice I'm there. She's in the big communal kitchen, sitting at the counter while Barton cooks something at the stove. By the smell, I'd guess burnt pancakes. She looks normal, if maybe a bit tired, and has her hands surrounding a coffee mug on the counter.

"I'm not hungry." She states cooly, in the same casual yet authoritative voice I've heard her use a thousand times.

"You're going to eat these pancakes if I have to shove them down your throat myself." Comes Barton's quiet, yet aggressive response. I'm a little surprised. I've heard never anyone threaten her into doing anything outside a mission..or really even during a mission...or at all. How is he not dead yet?

The Russian glares daggers at him, but doesn't verbally respond. She doesn't snap his neck either, like I imagine that she would if it were me or anyone else demanding something of her in a tone like that. Her partner transfers the contents of the pan he's been tending to onto a plate and pushes it over to her along with a fork and some syrup.

Romanoff just looks down and stares into her coffee.

"Damn it, Tasha! You have to eat. You're losing too much weight already." I glance down to her body, covered up by a loose t-shirt that has to be Barton's and a pair of well fitted jeans. He's right. Her arms are losing muscle tone. He reaches out from across the counter to lift her chin and make her look at him. "Please." He begs, a desperate look in his eye that says way more about the depth of his feelings for her than I could ever get either of them to admit to me verbally. Suddenly, the moment feels too private for me to be silently watching in on, but I can't make myself look away from them either.

She does finally look up at him, clearly miserable. I think she's going to say something for a moment, but all she ends up doing is looking back down at her plate and cutting out a forkful of pancake that she stuffs in her mouth.

For a second, I think she's actually going to throw it right back up. Nausea from the medications, perhaps?

"Where did you learn to cook Barton? From watching Thor burn his pop-tarts?" The jab was weak but Barton still takes the bait, smiling as she takes a second small bite and forces herself to swallow it even though it is clearly difficult for her to stomach.

"It's still better than what you tried to make in Scotland. How is it again that you can burn toast? Some housewife you were."

"Remind me again, did I or did I not take out three men while cooking said toast?"

Barton crossed his arms and shrugged. "I helped." His tone was playful and only slightly defensive. He was obviously enjoying what appeared to be the normal banter for them. I back up a little and begin to make my way into the kitchen for real, planning on teasing Barton for cooking and asking him to make me some too, but right before I cross the threshold I hear a loud shattering sound and look in to see that the cup that the Widow had been bringing up to sip on was now broken on the floor beside her. Her left arm is hanging limp and Barton raced to grab onto his partner to prevent her from falling off the backless stool.

She looks down at the pieces of mug and splattered coffee all over the floor and then up to Clint, who is now standing behind her and holding her up to him so as to support her from behind. I shake my head, unwilling to go in there now that it would surely humiliate her. I may be a narcissistic ass, but nobody's that big of an ass. Instead, I walk to Pepper's office for the second time in two days to talk to her about the crazy Russian and her Birdboy idiot.

She's in the middle of a call, but that doesn't really matter. I go sit in front of her desk and try to stop the big stupid silver thingy she's got that drives me nuts and won't stop moving. She gives me an exasperated look while I have the thingy tangled in my hands, suppressing the urge to somehow kill it for good, and quickly ends the business conversation.

"Okay, Tony. What is it?" Clearly, she's about as happy to see me as she usually is when I interrupt her work in the middle of a business day. I look up to see her bright, healthy features; her strawberry blonde hair she keeps perfectly straightened and her big blue eyes and feel a little calmer. I just feel the need to let her know how much I really do appreciate her.

"Can we go out to lunch?" I ask her out of impulse. Seeing how fragile the once unbreakable Russian assassin is only makes me all the more aware of Pepper. If that kind of shit can happen to Barton and Romanoff, how do I know I won't get some crazy injury or disease or, even worse, how do I know that Pepper won't? It makes me feel greedy of my time with her.

She smiles, genuinely happy to be surprised with attention to like this, but she frowns after a moment when she begins to question why. I seriously need to remember to take her out more often in between running the company and saving the world. _Oh, here it comes._

She holds her hands out to her stupid always-moving thingy and I give it back to her even though I still want to kill it. "Yes. We can go to lunch, but I want to know why you care enough to come in here and ask all the sudden." She arranges it back to were it was a top the desk only for the damn thing to start moving again.

But even with her messing with the annoying thingy I'm still paying attention to what she says and the remark genuinely hurts. "I always care, Pepper. Let's go to the shwarma place." I get up and grab her coat, holding it out for her. "Oh, and we need to discuss decorating plans" I add, knowing that she'll be the better of the two of us to handle the details.

At this she looks truly confused as she stands from her desk and makes her way over to where I'm at near the door. "Decorating plans?"

"Yeah, we have to get rid of all the backless chairs and maybe switch to a softer type of floor."


	4. Natasha

The week between Estonia and New york was a blur. In and out of hospitals and S.H.I.E.L.D medic bays; mostly carried in and out by Clint. Between the seizures and the medications to stop the seizures I was out much more often than awake. My first real night that I am aware of since Paris is the second night I'm back at the Avenger's tower when enough of the medications Clint kept shoving down my throat started to wear off.

I wake up in the middle of the night, completely alert for the first time in what seems like forever. My left arm hurts, so I roll over to my other side, coming face to face with a sound asleep Clint Barton in the process. _Huh. _I look around only to find that we're both in his room at the Avenger's tower, only all my stuff is neatly arranged along with his, as if we were living together. There's a couple inches of space between us on the bed, but he's arm is still loosely draped over my ribs, probably so he'll know if I wake up crazy again. Upon looking around I notice that there are some standard restraints in the room over in a pile on the dresser, but they're useless. My arms are completely free. He's such an idiot. If I did have another episode I could have him dead before he opened his eyes.

I get up carefully so that I don't disturb Barton and head to the little kitchenette of his apartment for a glass of water. On the kitchen counter is a large pile of medical pamphlets and doctors' instructions. I don't really look through any of it; I already know all the important bits from when I was still in the last hospital. I know which cabinet the cups are in too. Clint and I have always spent a lot of time in each other's apartments even before all this, leveling out after missions and patching each other up when we don't feel like going to the medical department at S.H.I.E.L.D., which is most of the time. So I pull myself up with my good arm to perch on top the cold granite counter like I've always done here and sip at my water; trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do.

My whole life I've known that I was going to be punished somehow from all the things I've done. I just thought it would come in the form of a bullet. The worst part is that it's punishing Clint too. Ever since he found me in Estonia he won't leave me the hell alone. I know it's just out of pity. He knows what happened with my old handler. He knows what my diagnosis is thanks to an old fake marriage license he still had from when we were married undercover once. The idiot doctor believed him and told him everything. Now he's just stuck here, taking care of me like I'm his elderly grandma or something and he has some twisted sense of duty to do it.

It's not necessarily permanent, the doctors tell me. It could be permanent or it could go away on its own in time (probably years) or it could be managed with medications to fix the symptoms. None of that matters though. I'll never be allowed in the field again. If I don't have a job, what do I have? I don't have a home or a family to go to. I don't even have a place to go that isn't somehow related to S.H.I.E.L.D. I certainly can't just stay in the Avenger's Tower forever, especially if I'm no longer an Avenger.

All I want to do is run or go beat something up. I can't do either. The doctors kept saying over and over that it will get better once they get all the medications sorted out and in my system, but ever since that stupid seizure in the hotel room in Paris I can barely even walk by myself. My limbs are unpredictable. One moment they're fine and then the next I either get searing pain or, even worse, I completely loose control or feeling in my hand or leg or arm or foot.

Clint's solution to this is to watch me twenty-four seven and never take more than four steps away in case he needs to grab hold of me, but it's still better than humiliating myself with the wheelchair that the idiot S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors had the nerve to try to get me to use. There's also aways the fun possibly that I might temporarily loose my mind again and try to kill him.

"Tasha?" Clint softly questions from his bedroom, as he makes his way out through the hall in this direction. I don't answer. I know he'll find me in a moment.

"So what, are we roommates now?" I ask, trying to make my voice sound as jovial as possible when all I can think about is how I probably don't have my own apartment anymore because I'm no longer part of the team.

A slight blush creeps up onto Clint's cheeks. "Uh, well, I just thought it would be easier..." to take care of me in your apartment now that I'm a cripple, I finish in my mind.

"You didn't need to do that. I'm fine on my own. I've just been knocked out from the drugs. They gave me the anti-crazy pills, remember?" Let's just pray that they work. But then, the only gods I've met so far don't seem like they'd be very helpful in this situation. I take another sip of water, desperately wishing is was vodka though I know that's an absolute no-no right now if I don't want another trip to the infirmary with all the crap they have me on.

He looks down at his feet and I can almost feel his apprehension and fear when he responds "I wanted to."

I don't know what to say to that. I'm sure it's out of some twisted sense of guilt. "I already owe you enough of a debt, Barton. I don't need anymore piled on my shoulders."

"Is that what you think?" He asks, sounding equally shocked and disproving and incredulous. "You think you owe me? For what?"

I shrug. For giving me a purpose. For getting me the hell out of Russia the first time and then for finding me in Estonia. For being the closest thing to family I've ever had. For not killing me when you had a chance, even though you should have. Anyone else would have if they were you. I would have. For being the one person that just gets me and still doesn't judge. I don't say any of those things as he moves forward until he is directly in front of me, almost close enough to be touching. Almost, but not quite.

"I've never kept a score between the two of us, but if I did, I would say you already repaid anything you owed in full when you refused to kill me despite me having an alien demi-god in my brain." I stare at him a long moment, considering this and still coming up with a losing score. He's been watching my back for far too long and what he's been doing for the past couple weeks goes far and beyond what people do for their work partners. He's too attached, though I'll never understand why. It isn't the sex because we've never had it and he's never asked. I have a very specific set of skills. I'm only good for so much. None of those skills could be the motivation here, so what the hell does he want?

His hands come to rest on the tops of my knees as he looks at me in the darkened apartment. Its comforting and I look down to for the first time to notice that I'm only wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of panties. I'm not embarrassed by this. He's seen me in a lot less. He's seen me a few times in nothing at all. In fact, now that I'm thinking about it, he's probably the one that changed me into the t-shirt in the first place. I vaguely remember wearing a big pair of sweatpants too earlier though. I must have kicked those off in my sleep.

"I'll get out of your hair as soon as I get everything straightened out with the paperwork and meds." I promise even though I don't know what I'll do or where I'll go when that happens. I just don't want to bring him down with me. His hands are still resting on my knees and I can't get over how warm they are. I'm used to all sorts of strange men touching me all over the place and yet this one simple touch from my partner is making me feel more than anyone ever has. It must be the trust between us. Clint's had the uncanny ability to make me unconsciously relax into his touch for years and, unlike when anyone else is touching me, I don't have to think about it or put on any act.

"We're partners, Tasha. There's no one else that I'd ever want in my hair except for you." Then, wordlessly, he runs his hands forward up my knees and over my naked thighs until they reach either side of my waist and then he grips hold of me to lift me off the counter and up to his warm, muscular body. I'm hanging onto him like a monkey and his hand is under my ass. I'm anyone saw this they'd think we were literally having sex right now. He walks us back to his bed in silence and he never lets go of me as he bends over until I'm on my back in the mattress. For a very brief moment he is laying down on top of me with my legs still around his waist and his arms around my back and under my butt and he pauses to look at me with something in his eyes that I don't quite recognize. I'm not sure what to do, so I do what comes most naturally to me and look away from him as his breath tickles my neck and his eyes bore holes into my skin. Instantly, he lets go of me and rolls of to his side of the bed closer to the door, looking up at the ceiling like its suddenly got something interesting about it.

Strangely, I miss the contact. I look at him, wondering what to do to solve the problem. I want him to hold me because then all these horrible thoughts will go away and maybe I'll be able to go to sleep, but I don't know how to ask. I know a thousand ways to seduce a man, but I have no idea how to go about getting one to cuddle with me. Luckily for me, I don't end up having to, because a moment later Clint's eyes finally come back to meet mine and I know he gets me. A slow grin makes its way across his lips and I turn over so that my back is to him before he wraps his arms around my waist like he did that night in Paris (though I have clothes on now) and pulls me to him. I try my best not give any outward signs of how grateful I am of the embrace. Generally speaking, I don't like being touched, but Clint's different. He's comfortable.

I curse at him a little in Russian because I know he secretly likes it and breathe in the familiar masculine scent of him as I go back to sleep.

* * *

_Two days later... _

"Stark, what are you doing?"

"Masterfully solving the rubrics cube your husband threw at me." It stopped surprising me a long time ago how everyone we know assumes we're a couple. It's been like that for years. Lately, however, Stark had taken it to a whole new level, continually referring to Clint as my 'husband'. The idea would be hilarious if it weren't so ludicrous.

"Clint's not my husband and I'm not talking about the rubrics cube. What are you doing in here?" I ask, keeping my tone completely calm and even and letting my eyes communicate how influential his next few words are to the length of his life expectancy.

We both know the answer, of course. He's here to babysit me because Clint asked him to. That man really needs to move his focus back to work before he drives me insane. Its his first day back at work since Estonia and he's seriously gone so low as to get Tony Stark in here to watch me?

"Making sure that you don't keel over dead while your hubby works."

At least he isn't going to lie to my face. "In your Iron Man suit?" I know he's wearing it because he's scared of me, of what I might do to him. I find it amusing. He isn't wrong to be nervous, even on a normal day, for doing something as ridiculous and condescending as this. I suppose the fact that my condition has put me in an 'altered mental state' at least twice now (not counting the time I was hallucinating on the plane and killed the poor medic) has him unwilling to take any chances.

"I don't mind doing the man a favor, but I'm not willing to die over it. I'm a genius, not an idiot." He tosses me the correctly solved rubrics cube and I catch it with my good hand. Then he plops down into a chair across from me. "Do ever think about giving that poor guy a break and just, I don't know, go buy a house in the suburbs or something? Punch out a couple SpiderHawk babies?"

I hurl the rubrics cube back at the self absorbed idiot, shattering it against the hard titanium metal alloy of his chest.

"He's NOT my husband!" I raise my voice at him this time. I don't mention the fact that I'm totally barren anyway from one of the procedures the Red Room did. It's irrelevant and, anyway, what would Clint want with a chronically sick wife? He's never said anything about wanting to settle down with anyone in front of me. I'm pretty sure his only plan is to do his job and go on missions until one takes him out.

"Oh, so you don't love the broody hawk-man that you sleep with every night, that walks around here taking care of you twenty-four seven, that took you home when he was supposed to assassinate your Russian ass? I mean, your code name is BlackWidow and he's still alive after having kinky sex with you for how many years?"

I glare at him. He doesn't even know how wrong he has it. I've never had sex with Clint. He just likes to sleep next to me because he's paranoid that I'm going to have another seizure or something at night; or maybe he thinks I'm going to go crazy again and kill everyone in the tower if he isn't right there to stop me. "Don't be stupid. Love is for children. Clint is my partner."

"Yeah, he is. He's your life partner, Nat, just accept it." It was the first time anyone other than Clint had dared use that nickname for me, yet he didn't use it mockingly as I would have expected. He used it like a close friend might.

When I shift around on my spot on the couch, my right leg giving me trouble, Tony mistakingly takes it as a sign of my emotional discomfort. As if I would be that amateurish. As far as expressions and body language go, Stark could never read any farther into what I decided to put forth than I choose for him to. "That man _loves_ you and not just like the platonic type of love the rest of us have for each other."

At this, I snort. As if I would ever love Tony Stark in any way, platonically or not.

"Okay, some of us, then. The point is that I know how it is to look at someone when you love them and Mr. Katniss looks at you like I look at Pepper."

"Well, Tony, if you love Miss. Potts that much, why don't you marry her?" I fire back cooly, throwing out the one thing that will surely take him off guard. "That's the idea, right? If you're that committed?"

His mouth opens a little as something like shock passes behind his eyes and then, surprisingly, he doesn't come back with a quip or argument. He just stands there for a long moment, as if processing the idea, and then raises his eyebrows at me and nods. "You know, that's not a bad idea." The next thing I knows he just walks away, babysitting detail forgotten, and for the first time in weeks, I'm finally left alone in peace.

I stand up from my spot on the couch and stretch, smiling at the idea. I love Clint, platonically, but I'm not capable of loving anyone the other way; the Red Room made sure of that. I like my solitude and the man being within ten feet of me every second for weeks has been driving me nuts. I need to get out and go somewhere. Though my left arm is mostly dead, for now, I have no trouble getting on my jacket, just like I have a half a dozen times before when it was sprained or broken.

I'm almost halfway down the hall when Steve catches up to me, running until he reaches me and then falling into step with my brisk pace. This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid.

"Hi, Steve." I greet as he rushes forward to hold open an up coming door before I reach it. If anyone else did this I would punch them, but I know that it's more than likely not even because of my condition that he's doing this. He was raised to be a complete gentleman to women and I strangely don't mind it. It's a nice change of pace from all the other guys I'm usually around who think its okay to stare at me like I'm some piece of steak they want to grab.

"Hey. Feeling better today?"

I smile a little and nod. "I'm fine." I begin to wonder how long its going to take him to realize that I know Stark told him to come.

"Where are you going?" He asks softly, probably afraid of getting in trouble if he actually lets me out of the building.

"Out." Is the only response I bother to give him as I keep up my brisk pace right up to the elevator. He follows along and gets right in with me. _Oh, this is going to be fun_. He's far too polite to come straight out with trying to stop me.

"Mind if I join you?" The elevator door has closed before his question is even all the way out, making his intentions clear. The question is just a formality. My answer doesn't matter.

The buttons light up as we pass down through each floor. As nice of a guy as Steve is, the last thing that I want is to have him tiptoeing behind me and treating me like a porcelain doll all afternoon. I have 32 stories to decide how I want to handle this. As it turns out I only need one.


	5. Steve

"Bruce! When did you get in?" I ask, ecstatic that he's here. I've been needing to use the bathroom for the last two hours and it is getting to the point of desperation.

At this he just quips an eyebrow up at me and dawdles in the doorway. "Um…Steve…why are you tied to Agent Barton's Bed?" He is calm as always, but his voice is filled with a cross between confusion and amusement.

"I tried to escort Miss. Romanoff when she went to leave the tower. I think she may have wanted to be alone." I can't help but wince a little at the fresh memory. The women nowadays really are very different than I'm used to, if she's anything to go by, though something tells me that she isn't. I'm not angry at her; she's just independent. Truthfully, she reminds me a little of Peggy, except a lot scarier.

Bruce walks into the room more fully and looks around at the restraints on my wrists and ankles that make it completely impossible to escape, even for me. He nods absentmindedly at my response to his question though, as if he isn't surprised Natasha would do something like this. He never bothers to ask me how she managed. Everyone knows how good, bad, or deadly the lady is depending on the situation. I just never imagined her using her impressive skills against me. I hear him chuckle as he takes the sight in, as if memorizing the ridiculous scene to laugh at properly later, before he lazily unbuckles the wrist restraint on the side of the bed where he stood.

"Thanks" I use my free hand to unbuckle my other wrist and then sit up to remove the restraints from my ankles.

"I see that you guys are really taking care with me gone." Bruce comments sarcastically. I take in a breath and smile. There's nothing else to do.

"I just hope she's alright. Tony told me what Clint said and I'm worried." By this point I'm up and making my way to the nearest bathroom. "Excuse me for just a minute."

Unsurprisingly, Clint's bathroom is full of Natasha's stuff. I can see the women's shampoo and other products, along with both of their toothbrushes. It looked like a regular messy bathroom that could have belonged to any married couple. No one could ever guess it actually belonged to a couple of master assassins. It doesn't matter to me though, I'm just eternally grateful to finally have use of a bathroom. I finish washing my hands and walk back out to Bruce, hoping he didn't think I was being rude for rushing off like that.

"So when did you get in?" I ask as I re-emerge from the other room and walk with him back out to the main hallway out of the Barton's private apartment. Then a thought hit me: why is her name still Agent Romanoff? Did women stop changing their names when they get married in the last seven decades? I pull out my little notepad that I always keep with me for questions such as this and write the question down to look up later.

"Just now. Tony called me about Romanoff too. I'm going to set up in the laboratory no one's using on Sub-floor four. I was actually hoping to start right away with a blood sample, but I guess that isn't going to happen right now." I turn to Bruce, taking silently offering to take one of the bags he had gathered back up from the hallway floor. He hands me a duffle bag.

"Well, first I need to find her."

The doctor turns to look at me skeptically. "Do you really think you could find her if she does't want you to?"

I sigh, knowing he's right, but I can't just sit around while there could be an injured woman out there alone...and possibly psychotic.

"Do you know where Stark is?" Bruce asks and I wonder if he's consciously trying to distract me. I appreciate the thought if he is.

"No. He called me earlier asking me to sit with Mrs. Barton." Now that I know she's married, its hard to remember to call her Romanoff. "He's supposed to be, but he said something came up with Pepper."

Bruce was giving me a strange, questioning look that started as soon as the words 'Mrs. Barton' had left my lips. I really do need to do some research on current marriage practices. I'm obviously saying something wrong. Still, he doesn't correct me, instead simply asking. "Where's Agent Barton?"

"Clint?" I ask. I assume he's talking about Clint, but I can't be sure.

He gives me a very small nod and I get the feeling I've made an fool out of myself.

"Headquarters. He's got meetings for most of the afternoon. They wanted him to leave for a mission in Brazil in a few days, but I don't think he's going to take it. Of course, I can't blame the guy considering."

Banner stands silent, nodding his head and appearing as though in deep thought. We walk towards the lab until my cell phone rings from my pocket. I reach down and fiddle with it, trying to remember how to work the tiny thing. Agent Hill had shown me once, but she kept using phrases like 'touchscreen' and 'internet access' and 'text messaging' and I didn't understand half of the vocabulary she used at the time. I miss the call, but Banner silently offers to take the phone from me and proceeds to hit a few places on the tiny computer like screen that made up the front and re-connect me to the person trying to call. It's Mr. Barton.

"I called Stark but he wouldn't answer and then JARVIS transferred me to you. Do you know where he and Tasha are?" His voice is laced with concern and anxiety. He's obviously nervous about having left her here in Stark's care.

"Well, actually, Stark asked me to watch her and ran off."

There's a pause.

"So she's there with you?"

"Not exactly. She uh, went out. I think she wanted some time alone." I'm scratching the back of my neck and pacing, quite sure that I am in big trouble here.

I was expecting him to yell, honestly, or possibly curse at me or maybe even threaten me. He doesn't. All he does is mumble a low pitched "ok" and hangs up.

I don't know what to think.

I'm almost positive I won't be able to find her in this New-New York that I'm still so unfamiliar with and, honestly, I'm not sure what I will do if I do find her. Still, it just isn't right for me to stay here and do nothing when she could be out hurt and alone somewhere, so after I help Dr. Banner with his things down to the lab I head out.

Searching for a master spy in New York city, even a sick one with that shockingly red hair, turns out to be just as impossible as I was afraid it might be. There's just so many cars and lights and noises- none of which I've really had time to get used to. I can't even find my way to the empire state building, let alone a single person who doesn't want to be found- whose probably only survived this long in her line of work by being really good at not being found. I'm hopelessly lost within twenty minutes and by the time I find my way back it's past four o'clock.

Mentally exhausted from all the confusion of getting lost in a 21st century city, I make my way back up the the common floor looking for Dr. Banner. He wasn't in his lab when I stumble back in and I need him to help me use the phone to contact agent Barton and apologize to him properly. I find him in the common room...along with both Clint and Natasha Barton, all sitting around in the living room area talking and laughing with each other as if everything was fine. Dr. Banner sat a love seat watching t.v. while Natasha lay sprawled out on the couch with her head in her husband's lap, smiling over at me as I entered the room as if we were the best of friends.

"Hi Steve." She greets. The archer doesn't say anything, but grimaces in my direction a bit apologetically. I wonder if either of them told him what happened or where I've been.

I stiffen a little without meaning to. The lady can be a little scary sometimes and her cheerfulness at seeing me after restraining me down to a bed and just walking out has me feeling a little creeped out. Still, I can't be rude so I make my way over to my fellow teammates and nod to Natasha. "I'm glad to see you're alright, ma'am."

I can see Dr. Banner looking up at me from his seat, grinning at the situation. I turn to head to the gym to relax and do my evening training.

When I return later for dinner in the larger communal kitchen I'm not surprised to see everyone around the dining table. It isn't generally our practice to eat meals together and we all have our own smaller kitchens in the individual apartments Stark gave us, but anytime someone gets back into town we tend to all do a dinner to catch up. Tonight its just the three of them with Mr. Stark very noticeably absent.

"Captain! Come on and join us. We have chinese." Banner invites, looking a little too happy to see me.

_Well, I've never had chinese before_. I smile and walk over, sitting down next to the scientist. Mr. Barton and the only lady present were on the other side of the table; Mrs. Bartondirectly across from me and Clint close beside her across from Dr. Banner.

"So, how did your impromptu mission go?"

"Well, everyone is okay and enjoying dinner together and I figure that's about as successful as things can be." I just hope Ms. Romanoff or Barton or whatever it is nowadays isn't mad at me anymore. For such a beautiful woman, she can be downright scary when she wants to be...and that was when she was clearly not even trying to hurt me.

Based on the soft, forgiving smile she wears as she passes me the plate that Barton had silently prepared, I think things are okay. I can't find it in me to be angry at her. She's going through a lot right now and I'm sure she found the whole idea of me and Mr. Stark to be patronizing. I smile back at her to let her know I hold no grudges and begin inspecting the variety of unrecognizable foods on my plate.

"Here," She hands me a pair of odd, straight little sticks and holds another pair up that she must be using. I'm confused. What am I supposed to do with these? She smiles again, genuinely, and begins walking over to where I am with only the slightest hint of a limp. From close by my side she takes my dominant right hand and arranges my fingers around the pair of sticks, showing me how to open and close them. "you eat Chinese food with chopsticks."

I look over to find both other men at the table using theirs to pick up noodles and rice and bring it to their mouths. Banner is picking at his rice politely, but Barton is sucking up his brown noodles so quickly that I'm not sure whether he even tastes them.

I take a couple of small practice bites and get the process down. Natasha goes back to her seat to resume eating whatever it was that is on her plate as well. Dr. Banner begins telling us about his work in Nepal. He had been there for the past two months acting as a free doctor for the poor; treating the sick and offering free birth control for the women there who couldn't even afford to feed themselves and the children they already had. It was interesting to listen to, but sad. I had hoped that poverty was lessened around the world in this new century. From how Dr. Banner paints things its only gotten worse, if anything.

After dinner we all go to put on a movie and Dr. Banner suggests Indiana Jones and the Arc of the Covenant with a big smirk on his face, as if he's sure I'll love it. Clint and Natasha move to sit on the couch and watch it with us, but don't offer any suggestions. Of course, the latter of them might not have seen a lot more than I have, growing up Russian and all. I watch them settle back into the same positions on the couch that they were when I returned to the tower earlier as Banner sets up the movie and I go to sit on the remaining easy chair.

The movie turns out to be amazing and all of us watch in silence throughout the screening. I do notice that Barton's wife looks to be asleep by the time Indiana Jones escapes from the pit of snakes.

"That was a great movie!" I complement, happy to have a break from all the Stark recommended movies I've been forced to see over the last few months. More often than not, there was at least one scene that involved unclothed women and I'm pretty sure the billionaire choses them by their ability to make me uncomfortable.

"Mmmh." Purred the lady of the room from her place in her husband's lap, her eyes still closed. I guess she wasn't asleep after all. "Too bad Jones didn't actually accomplish anything."

"What do you mean? He's the protagonist. He was doing things the entire movie." Dr. Banner replies, sounding surprised that she was both awake and critiquing the film.

Natasha still doesn't move or open her eyes, though even Clint is now looking at her with unveiled curiosity as he continues to run his fingers through her fiery red hair. "He didn't do anything." She says simply in a tone that makes it clear that she doesn't understand how we don't see what she does. Finally, she opens her eyes and sits up slowly, using her right arm to prop herself up and away from Clint until she is leaning upright into the back of the couch beside him. "He made no difference to the mission or the plot. Everything that happened would have happened anyway with or without him there."

I watch as Dr. Banner's jaw drops open a little bit, as if someone had only now just told him there was no Santa Clause. I think it though silently and realize she's right. _Huh. Why didn't I notice that?_

"He gets the arc back to the American government." I try…hoping to stave off Dr. Banner's disappointment a little.

Natasha glowers at me, but instead of looking less disappointed, Bruce's expression grows even sadder. I forget that he probably doesn't have a lot of trust in government agencies considering his past. "Yeah. Great." Is his only response. The sarcasm practically drips from his voice. I think Natasha may have just ruined the whole movie for him.

"Isn't Indiana Jones a series of movies?" Mr. Barton questions, clearly not sure and looking to Dr. Banner from his seat.

"Yeah. There's several."

"Then why don't we put in the next moving picture and see how it all turns out for him?" I suggest, hoping that the next one proves the hero's worth. I didn't agree with some of the specific actions the character took in the picture, but it was one of the better ones I've seen since waking up and I hate to see Dr. Banner so disappointed by Mrs. Barton's observations. Her calculating nature sometimes can have a bit of a bite to it. More than once she's managed to say just the thing to ruin my whole day before, whether intentionally or not. She does it so innocently that its hard to think its on purpose.

This seems to suit everyone in the room and we end up watching another. Once again, Mrs. Barton uses her husband's lap as a pillow and closes her eyes. I can't help but think of Peggy as I watch from the side of my vision while he looks down at her and strokes her loose hair. I begin to wonder how long they've been married and how they met. Knowing those two, it must be quite the story. By halfway through the third movie, as this had now turned into an all out marathon, I feel myself begin to nod off.

I'm awoken very abruptly, however, to a swift kick to my chest. It knocks the wind out of me momentarily, but I look up to see the red-headed avenger struggling; fighting Clint in a manner that appears almost robotic in its coldness. Immediately, I jump to my feet.

"It's happening again!" A clearly panicked Agent Barton yells to Dr. Banner, still in his human form, thankfully. The scientist nods and runs for his lab only to get pounced upon by the mad woman as if she were a lioness and he her prey. She seems to be more after Dr. Banner than Clint, though Clint is clearly the one trying to contain her. It doesn't look like he's being very successful.

"Get the tranquilizer!" Dr. Banner yells at me from his place on the ground. His expression is pained and I understand immediately why he's ordering me to get it for him as he remains perfectly still. He's trying not to turn into the other guy.

"Where is it?" I yell back over the string of loud Russian screaming coming from Mrs. Banner as Mr. Banner does everything he can to hold her down without hurting her. It's a nearly impossible job.

"Second case! Second case!" He howls as he continues to fight changing into the hulk from his place on the floor.

I take off sprinting, skipping the elevator all together and rushing down the stairs at my absolute maximum speed. I pass by Mr. Stark and Miss. Potts on the first level as they are coming back into the building, but I have no time to stop and explain anything. I do yell out the words "Get to the common room!" as loudly as I can as I continue to run. Hopefully, he'll hear me and get there in his suit. There's a very real possibility that Barton could be dead before I can get back up there and I didn't even want to consider what all could happen if the hulk makes an unwelcome appearance.

The lab is still full of bags and briefcases. Dr. Banner has obviously not taken the time to unpack and organize anything yet. I glance around frantically as I come through the door. There was several briefcases in a pile on the first lab table. He could mean the second to the top or to the bottom. There is also two more propped up against the wall next to the door. There is no time for uncertainty, so I grab all three and take off, only to find a standoff back inside the common room.

The Russian agent has Stark somehow locked down inside his apparently dead Ironman suit and is behind Dr. Banner with his head tilted at an uncomfortable angle between her hands. He still has managed not to Hulk-out though and seems to be practicing his breathing in deep concentration. Finally, about four feet away is a desperate looking Clint Barton holding his hands out to her and desperately trying to calm her down and get her to remember who he is.

"Tasha, Tasha. It's me, okay? You know I'm not going to hurt you. I could never hurt you. Just please, please calm down and let Dr. Banner go before something really bad happens. Please, Tasha, мой паук."

The Russian doesn't move, but seems confused by her husband's words and presence. My heart breaks for him as I watch the exchange, unable to imagine what all must be going through his head, unwilling to imagine what must be going through hers. I move to open the briefcases and remove the three syringes, darting out behind Barton and holding them up to show him in a flash at an angle where his captor wasn't currently looking. Despite holding onto to Dr. Banner, it doesn't escape my attention that all her focus seems to be trained on Barton. Dr. Banner nods forward and I take it to mean the middle syringe.

As it turns out, I never get a chance to use it. Before I can react, Stark is zooming forward, ready to hit her with whatever light thingies he has that his suit can throw. I don't understand why his suit was off or how he got it to turn back on, but I desperately hope he's only bluffing.

"No!" I hear Barton yell as he reaches forward and grabs his wife back, pulling her with him to the ground to dodge Stark's shot. I look over to Stark stunned. That could have killed her. I try to make my way over to Stark, stepping over Dr. Banner, who was still practicing his deep breathing on the floor in the process. He can't help us. He is already doing everything he can to just control himself. Poor guy.

"Don't do that!" I yell at Stark, moving in front of him and making the mistake of putting my back to the temporarily insane secret agent behind me.

I feel something suddenly on my shoulders and realize with dawning horror that she has me in her thigh choke, which is something I've only seen her do when her intention is to kill. The thought passes that I might be about to die, but I take my hand and quickly grab her knee before she has time to prove me right. Using her momentum against her, I tear her off my body and throw her down to the floor, hoping to pin her long enough for someone to use the tranquilizer I had raced to get. She's only on the floor for a fraction of a second before she springs back up, using only one leg to propel her, but then Stark grabs her from behind, holding her back up to his suit.

Living up to her reputation, however, she simply slips out of his gasp like a wet eel and then grabs onto his wrist, using his own built in weapon to fire against him. The strength of his own attack drives him back into the wall several feet from where he stood and the female agent comes right up face to face with me once again, as if willing me to bring my best until she suddenly melts down to the floor. She doesn't fall exactly, but just collapses into her husband's hold behind her. It's then I notice the empty syringe he drops to the floor as he gathers her up, holding her unconscious body in his arms like a bridegroom.

He moves to sit down with her on the couch and I hurry over to Dr. Banner, touching his shoulder carefully. "She's down, Doc. It's over."

I hear the scientist/doctor let out a breath and he takes several moments to move to get up and look around, still very human.

"The psychosis is worse than you described." He states disapprovingly as he moves gracefully over to where the pair of assassins are on the couch. Barton doesn't respond, but instead just keeps his eyes locked onto his wife's unconscious body. Its clear that he's scanning her for possible injuries even though he's already got a shiner forming on his face and several bruises on her arms from being kicked. I go to help Stark, who was over on the other side of the room cursing as he manually has to remove his suit.

Banner goes to collect the syringes, freezing when he picks up the one that Clint had used and then snapping his eyes back to the sleeping woman as if suddenly horrified. "Uh-oh."


	6. Bruce

If a fully conscious, slightly weakened Natasha was still scary, the completely unconscious one in front of us just looked tiny.

"She'll wake up, but it will be a while. That wasn't the regular sedative I brought for this. It was something I've been working on for the other guy." I'm worried about the impact this will have on her body. It wasn't made for a regular human.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Clint asks, looking at me guilty faced and holding on to the redhead. I've always known they were together, but the way he's looked after her today since I came in is unexpectedly touching. It's little things mostly. Covering up her weaknesses in front of Steve earlier at the table by passing the rice bowl to her functioning hand even though it meant leaning over at awkward angles. He would always be sure to position himself at her weaker side in case she needed support, though she didn't ask for help and he never verbally commented on her condition. I could tell he was trying to keep her from being embarrassed in front of the rest of us.

Of course, the fact that he shielded the woman who was using him as a human punching bag without ever once making a move that would risk injuring her even slightly in the process also spoke volumes. Clint Barton literally cared more for Natasha Romanoff than for his own life. I decide right then and there that I need to be very, very careful with what I tell him about her condition. If forced into the choice he had already made it clear earlier that he would rather have anyone else on the team dead rather than his partner. Honestly, I can't blame him. I caught on to how they look at each other a long time ago and it is obvious he understands her and what makes her tick like no one else on the team could ever dream of. They love each other.

"She'll need to be kept in constant supervision. The serum I made for the other guy was designed to keep him in a state that is almost completely physically unconscious, but where he could be asked questions and have no choice but to answer truthfully. It's my own blend of supped up sedatives and truth serum." I say truthfully, worried at how he'll react at this news. The two are both very secretive people and I doubt he'll welcome the idea of his lover spilling her guts to anyone who asks.

Astonishment shone in his features and I noticed his immediate tightened grip on the woman who was already held tightly in his lap at his place on the couch. Tony had made his way out of the room with the help of Pepper already, needing to change out of the damaged suit that Natasha had somehow disabled at one point during the fight and managed to sue against him in another. Steve stood behind me.

"What's my favorite color, Tasha?" Clint directs, the question hurried as he peers down to his seemingly unconscious partner.

"Green like my eyes." Came the immediate response, her tone neutral and devoid of any hint of emotion or sentience.

Clint's head snaps back up to me and Steve and he glances back and forth to both of our eyes, his expression both nervous and determined. "Don't tell anyone. Especially not Stark."

"Mr. Barton-"

"No! I don't care about Fury or protocol or whatever! If either of you tell anyone before this wears off..." He doesn't need to finish for the threat to be clear.

"I was just gonna say that I wouldn't tell anyone." Steve comments, voice soft, though it did nothing to soften the archer's tense features.

"I need to ask her a few medical questions." I hazard. It really is important and, in this state, at least I can be sure I'll get the full and correct answers rather than any cover stories or watered down versions. The Black Widow takes to doctors about as well as a cat takes to a bubble bath.

Steve steps forward, offering his arms out to take the figure in Clint's lap so he can more easily get up we can all get out of the living room. It's only a matter of time before Tony comes back in a new suit to investigate and none of us want to hear the answers to the questions he's likely to ask her. Clint appears torn for a moment at the prospect of handing her over, but finally does and Steve immediately carries her out of the room back to Barton's quarters. It's the only place we can take her that Tony can't freely go.

Five minutes later we're all settled into the apartment with the Black Widow safely laid out on the bed and the rest of us sitting in chairs nearby. Her vitals are all fine- heart rate, blood oxygen, blood pressure, etc. I just hope she burns through the effects sooner rather than later. I made the serum to keep the other guy down for a day. Who knows how long it could last on a human. A top S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with a background like hers and truth serum could be a deadly combination in any of a thousand different scenarios. Barton's right about insuring no one knows about this.

"I'm just going to ask a few questions" I say to the sleeping Natasha, more for Clint's benefit than hers. I'd better start off easy. "How old are you?"

"I don't know." Comes the rather unexpected answer.

_Umm…what? _"Well, how old do you think you are?"

"Late twenties or early thirties. S.H.I.E.L.D. guesses would put me at about 30."

I look at Clint for clarification. He shrugs at me. "The Red Room destroyed all her records. We celebrate the her birthdays in November but its just the day I captured her and she defected from Russia."

Steve chuckles at this but I do my best to stay professional.

"You-you _captured her_ and you celebrate it like a birthday?" He states doubtfully.

Clint just shrugs again. Obviously there's a lot more to the story than he's willing to share.

"Do you have any new injuries that you're aware of from today?" I ask, directing my attention back to the patient.

"No." That's a small mercy.

"What do you remember about fighting today?"

"I thought it was a test." I turn to Clint to see his quietly sad, but unsurprised expression. Then she launches into a full scale blow by blow so robotically that it would have put me to sleep had I not been so intrigued about her thinking it was a test. What kind of test could she possibly mean? Like S.H.I.E.L.D. training tests?

"What kind of test?"

"The Red Room never tells me." _Red Room_?

"Do you know why you feel the need to attack your teammates?"

"Yes. I thought I was back in the Red Room." To her, it must be a complete explanation, but I still don't understand at all.

"Why did you think that?"

"I was confused."

"Do you think the Red Room is testing you now?"

"No." I let out a silently held breath.

"Where are you?"

"New York. The Avenger's Tower. In Clint's apartment. In Clint's bed." I jot down how she seems to narrow in on the answers, going from broad to specific.

"Who am I?"

"Bruce Banner. The doctor."

"Do you trust me?"

"No." That was a stupid question. Of course she doesn't. The other guy almost killed her on the helicarrier back in the battle for New York. She fought the rest of the day with a severely sprained ankle from the fall and then flinched away when I noticed it swollen and tried to treat it so quickly that she almost tripped over Tony trying to get away from me. She's afraid of the other guy.

"Do you trust me to give you medical attention?"

"Yes." At least that's an improvement.

"I'm going to take a few vials of your blood to run some tests on." I pull six vials out of my bag and get started as Steve leans forward in his chair.

"Do you trust me?" The team leader asks, worry etched into his voice like he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Most of the time." Is the answer he receives.

"Why not all the time?" Comes his slightly wounded answer. He just can't stand the idea that someone on his team might not trust his judgement.

"Your priorities are different than mine and I don't trust anybody all the time except Clint."

"Okay, Cap. That's enough." Clint finally stands up from his chair and makes to shoo Steve out of the room as soon as the rather personal reply is out. I'm still taking blood and he doesn't try to make me leave.

"Sorry! I meant as a team leader! I'm just gonna go-" Clint had already dragged the larger man halfway to the door by the time he even starts to explain and the door is shut with the Captain on the other side before he can finish. I look up at him as I switch out the vials and grin.

"You know he didn't mean anything." I comment, trying to calm the guy down a notch. Usually he was cool as a cucumber, but I can see where the constant worry is starting to strain him a little.

"You don't understand. If they ask the wrong questions... it took her years to trust me with anything. It upsets her to think about it." _It? What is it? I wonder. What is it that this guy is working so hard to help her keep secret?_ "She deserves more respect than a bunch of guys playing let's ask the spy when she can't help but answer. I don't want anyone taking advantage of her. If she remembers any of this-"

"She won't." I assure. It's true. When she wakes up with all this out of her system she'll have no memory of any of it. It's how I designed for the serum to work.

"But they will."

"So will you." I challenge back cooly. He might be closer to her than the rest of us, but even he might get tempted. None of us are saints- except for the man he just kicked out of the room, perhaps.

Clint glares at me, but doesn't argue. "Doctor/patient privileges apply, right?"

"Yes, of course they do." I place all the blood samples into my bag. "Speaking of which, do you have all the hospital records for me?"

Clint nods and strolls over to the kitchen counter, picking up a large stack of papers and brochures and handing them to me, looking happy to be rid of them. "I think there's something they're missing. I've known her for years. I know her body like my own and something about all this just doesn't sit right with me." I don't comment on the fact that Clint basically just admitted to having seen her naked enough to know her body as well as his own. It's none of my business.

The stages of grief automatically pop into my head and I wonder whether it's possible he's still in denial or if there really is something to it. "If you really want me to be able to help her I need to have all the pieces."

"Do whatever you gotta do to get her better doc, but I'll be watching you." The threat in his voice is clear but we both know that he couldn't hurt me even if he did want to. It's laughable to even picture him trying, really, but I keep the thought to myself. He needs to feel like he can protect his lover. That's to be expected. God knows it must be pretty frustrating to him to be in this position in the first place.

"I just want to help. I don't like seeing my team member like this either. No matter what she says though, I promise it will stay in this room."

Clint visibly relaxes and sits back down, nodding at me in silent consent.

Satisfied that he's going to let me work, I turn back to my patient. "When was your last menstral cycle?" I ask out of routine.

"I don't know."

"Was it more than a month ago?" I ask, becoming a little alarmed.

"Yes." She answers.

"Is it because of the Red Room?" Clint suddenly breaks in to ask from his seat a few feet away.

"Yes." Is her only response once again.

"What did the Red Room do to prevent you having a period?" I ask, needing the information of any past surgeries as her doctor in order to work up a complete medical history. Personally, I don't want to know the answer. I've never heard of the Red Room before today and I'm already getting the sense that I should hate it.

"When I became pregnant from an encounter with a mark and abdomen started to enlarge I was punished. I was beaten until I miscarried and then they sterilized me with an operation."

The silence is all engulfing. I take a breath. Okay, so the Red Room was definitely not a nice place.

"How old were you?" I'm genuinely afraid to ask, but I need to know how recent the trauma might have been.

"I don't know." Oh, right. Of course she doesn't know.

"Guess." I tell her.

"I had just gotten my first period the month before. I think around thirteen."

Okay. I'm done for the day. I don't want to know anymore. I can't know anymore. I stand back up and turn to Clint that is still in his place, looking even more miserable now than ever, to tell him I'm leaving to go get started with what I've got. He surprises me though and beats me to it.

"I'm sorry. I gotta…I'm going to go shoot something. Can you come get me when you're done?" He asks. I want to tell him that I'm already done, but he looks like he needs to get out of the room even more than I do, if that's even possible. I end up just nodding to him and he's out the door almost before I turn my head back to Natasha.

How could anyone do something like that to you? I want to ask her. How could anyone…I can't ten finish the thought. Be professional, Banner. Be professional. I need to focus on helping her now, not pitying her. I take a seat directly beside her and brace myself for the question I know I need to ask to understand.

"What is the Red Room?"


	7. 2 Bruce

It's less than twenty-four hours of watching them when I decide that I've had it. I don't know how Natasha handles it, but I can't get the unwelcome images of what she told me about the Red Room and what all they did to her out of my mind. I was in the room with her for less than an hour before Clint came back from shooting, looking only slightly less murderous than when he left, and I feel like I may need a lifetime of therapy to get over the things she said.

The first day, after she explained the Red Room and I truly learned the meaning of the phrase 'you can't handle the truth', I buried myself in the lab. I ran all the blood samples, read through the pile of medical records Clint had given me, and then checked and double checked and triple checked the blood results. I needed to make sure the previously untested serum wouldn't have any other adverse effects. I came up with practically nothing. Her iron is a little low, but her diagnosis appears correct. She has all the symptoms of Peripheral Neuropathy and a moderate to severe case of it at that. There is nothing to indicate that I can do anything to help her. Brain and nerve damage isn't something I can whip up an antidote for.

I fall asleep in the lab at some point...I can only guess the hour to be something between two and four in the morning. When I wake up its past eight and I make my way back up to Clint's apartment, a coffee for each of us in hand. Despite the fact that I want nothing more than to stay away from Natasha and all the unwelcome information I wish I had the sense not to ask her about, I need to check on her vitals and bring Clint some iron pills to administer.

He's got her propped up on a bunch of pillows and is patiently trying to feed her applesauce when I show up, JARVIS letting me in automatically at Clint's command. He doesn't look away from his task as he takes another small spoonful from the bowl and brings it to her lips. "Morning, doc."

"Morning." I greet. I can't bring myself to add a good to it. It isn't a good morning for anyone in the room. "How is she?"

"The same." It's strange watching him do this. It's doesn't seem natural for a hardened master assassin to be spoon feeding anyone like a baby, much less the infamous Black Widow. He's careful, patiently coaxing her into taking the small spoonfuls and swallowing; making sure to spill nothing.

"I brought some iron pills. It might help her have a little more energy when she comes out of this."

Clint doesn't look impressed. "Do you know how hard it is to get her to swallow pills like this? It took me over an hour last night to crush them all up and mix them with water and then get her to drink it all."

Right. Of course it would be. I am just about to offer to set up an I.V. to make things easier when Steve shows up with two plastic bags full of groceries. He and Clint must have reconciled because he strides right in to the kitchen counter and proceeds to unload the goods, holding each item up briefly to Clint as he unpacks it. Whole milk, five or six cans of soup, hummus, chocolate pudding; everything is liquid and fattening. I smile over at Steve and he greets me as if just noticing me in the room.

"Thanks." Clint mutters at him. It isn't much, but it's probably the best anyone's getting out of him today. I go through the motions of checking her vitals again and recording all the results for comparison. No change. Great. There's no telling how long this all might last.

"You don't have to do all this by yourself. I can take her to the lab and set up an I.V." I say, hoping to help the situation a little. Clint turns to look at me with something I can't quite place in his expression before he quickly slides back into to the calm indifference I'm used to seeing on him and goes back to spoon feeding Natasha.

"Do you know how I met her?" He asks back, nodding his head to the pretty redhead instead of answering me.

"No." Clint Barton volunteering information is enough to pull both me and Steve from our places to face him and give our full attention.

"I shot her." He throws out casually, as if it were almost funny to him, as he dips the spoon into the bowl once more to try to coax her into another bite. "It was supposed to be a kill shot but...I traq'd her and brought her in and ever since that day she's been the best damn partner anyone could ever ask for. I don't even know how many times she's saved my ass."

The battle of New York instantly comes to mind. When I thought back on it after it was over, I realized that ever single move the Black Widow had made during that crises had centered around getting her partner back. She followed him around the tower afterwards for days, discreetly watching him. At the time I thought she was simply monitoring for any signs of Loki's continued presence in the agent's mind, but it didn't take long for me to notice the way her face softened whenever he was around. Once I began taking notice, I picked up on all the little clues quickly- his nickname for her despite the fact that most people are too afraid to even use her first name, the silent conversations they held on a regular basis, the fact that her Russian accent leaks out ever so slightly sometimes on movie nights when she's sitting leaned into his side. She never drops her guard like that around anyone but Clint.

"Me and her, we're a team." He continues, snapping me out of my own thoughts of the matter. "She's the only partner I've ever had and she's the only partner I'm ever gonna have. So, whatever you think doc, I'm not interested in pawning her off. She's mine to take care of and without her I'd be dead by now anyway so if she's gonna be like this, even if it never...I've got her."

The Captain looks like he's on the verge of tears. I'm getting out of here back to the lab. "She won't be." With a new sense of importance, I take off back to the lab.

If the sedative aspect of the serum is keeping her under, then I really just need to find the correct stimulant to wake her up. It won't fix the truth serum aspect, but it will at least get her awake and conscious and able to eat solid foods. I can't handle watching Clint have to feed her again and I'm pretty sure neither can Steve. Plus, its only a matter of time before Tony pops up from wherever he is and gets curious. A conscious Natasha is less likely to get interrogated to the same degree by the playboy-especially now that he knows for a fact she can shut him down as though his suit is noting more than a light bulb on a chain. I go through my options, carefully considering the risks and drawbacks of each one before making my decision. It isn't perfect, but the side effects aren't long lasting. Half an hour after it's administered she'll be fine, still perfectly unable to lie for the next few days, but fine mentally otherwise. In any case, it keeps Clint from having to spoon feed her and dissolve her pills and it gives the rest of us back the Natasha we all know and fear rather than the small porcelain doll figure she looks like currently.

"Okay," I say walking back into Clint's apartment after JARVIS clears me. "I have an idea on how to wake her up, but it isn't going to be pretty for first few minutes."

Twenty minutes later we're all gathered back in the lab, ready to go. Tony is there too, much to Clint's dismay, looking much less nosey than expected and grinning from ear to ear like a maniac. He must have had a good time with Pepper last night.

"She's going to be disoriented and have a heightened sense of fear for the first ten to twenty minutes, but I've adjusted the formula to keep her from moving during that time, so there should be no risk of injury for her or anyone else." Tony and Steve look relieved, Clint's still sporting his usual neutral-with-a-hint-of-cornern expression.

Here goes nothing.


	8. 2 Natasha

So many eyes! They're everywhere! What the hell is happening? I don't know what's going on! I never know what's going on anymore!

"сокол" I need my hawk. "сокол!" Where is he? I need my-

"Это нормально. Ты в порядке." His eyes. The grey-blue. It's okay. It's okay.

There's others. Breathe, breathe. Show no fear. I can't help it! What's wrong with me? Breathe. Breathe.

His eye is blackened. Why does he have a black eye? Are we being attacked? I have to help! Why can't I move? What's happening? What's wrong with him?

We are being attacked. Stark is in his Ironman suit. Why is he in his Ironman suit? Why can't I sit up? What's going on? Breathe, Natasha. Get it together! "что происходит?" _What's happening? _Get it together! My handlers will beat me for that fear in my voice, idiot!

"What the hell is she saying? Is she gonna go nuts again?" Tony asks from about five feet away. Why does he look so cautious? Is he afraid? What is going on? Whose nuts? American idioms...American idioms...nuts- crazy. I know this! Pull it together!

"сокол?" He's right here. He's right here.

"Это нормально. Ты в порядке." _Everything's fine. Are you okay? _Clint asks. "Знаете ли вы, где вы находитесь?" _Do you know where you are? _Clint's here. I'm not in the Red Room. Clint's here. Pull it together before everyone thinks I'm crazy! He's asking me a question. I have to tell him.

I look around from my place laying down on the cold metal lab table and slowly nod as best I can. Everything hurts. "Avenger's Tower. In the lab." This time, my voice sounds a lot closer to normal and I see Clint breathing in a sigh of relief.

"Miss Romanoff, I'm going to examine you and just ask a few questions, okay?" Dr. Banner. The hulk! No! Don't try to kill me again!

"Clint!" I yell, feeling panicked as Banner comes near me...what if he hulks out? "The Hulk...he's going to Hulk!" I turn to the doctor "Please, please don't. I can't run! Please!"

I can hardly breathe. Everything is so bright. Please don't Hulk, please don't Hulk. Breathe. I need to think. I can't think! He's going to Hulk!

Clint's hand grips mine harder and I feel myself begin to calm down a little. He won't let him. сокол won't let him. Banner isn't coming towards me anymore. He's talking. English, english. What is he saying?

"You've been injected with a truth serum. It will wear off, just try to remain calm, okay? It's gonna have some side effects. We're all just here to help you." I shake my head furiously, but even that's hard.

"Я не могу двигаться." No, no Russian...English...right? Yes, yes. English. "I can't move." Breathe. Hold it together.

"That's just a side effect. It will go away. It's just going to take some time for it to get out of your system."

"You're going to Hulk! You're going to Hulk! Please-"

"I'm not going to change, Miss Romanoff. Uncontrollable fear is a side effect. It isn't real. Try to remember that it isn't real. No one here is going to hurt you. In a few minutes it will go away."

My eyes dart from the doctor to Clint to Steve to Stark. He's right, he's right. "Steve won't hurt me. He doesn't hit women." I find myself saying out loud even though I thought it was just going through my head. "Stark can't hurt me. I know all his secrets. I know...I know all the passwords and how to stop his suits." The idea is sort of funny. I start chuckling. Stark comes up, he looks mad. I'm laughing but I don't know I am until I'm doing it.

"How do you know that?" He demands. So funny.

I laugh harder. "I'm really, really good at my job and you are so easy to hack and read...I can read everything you think, you stupid American. You show it all over your face." I know I shouldn't be saying these things, but it's like I can't help myself. I have to tell him! His face is so funny! "You think I would live with a metal man that I can't stop? I know everything! I know how to work your suits and...and how to shut them down...and how to reprogram them to do what I want-"

"Tasha!" Clint hisses, trying to get my attention. I look up at him. My sweet hawk. He has a pretty face.

"She's been hacking into my security systems! I'm gonna have to reprogram everything. This woman is nuts!"

"She's not insane." Banner argues, physically ushering Stark away from me. "She's literally unable to lie right now. The serum was designed for interrogations. It paralyses the patient and makes them feel like they have to tell anyone anything they ask. She can't help it."

"Well she still hacked into my mainframe!" Stark continues, seething mad. I start laughing again. I think he wears eyeliner.

"Do you know how long it will take to wear off?" Steve asks. He looks so worried about me. Oh, poor sweet Steve.

I do my best to reach out to him, but I can't make it. "So sweet. Isn't Steve a nice guy? He's just so good. Why are you so perfect?"

I can see the blush creep up all over his face. "I'm not-" Stark comes over chuckling and pats him on the back.

"Yeah, Spangles, why is that?" Oh, poor Steve looks horrified.

"Oh, no. I'm sorry. Don't be mad, okay? Don't be mad. It's just 'cause I'm everything you hate. I really like killing people and you think it's so wrong and I know you're afraid of my thighs." He's tomato red at this point. Why am I saying all this? I would never say this!

Clint is glaring at the Captain. I don't know why he's glaring... "Tash, you're saying a lot of things right now that you're going to regret, so I'm just going to take you back to bed okay?"

I look at him and he picks me up and I want to stay with him. I don't want to go to the bed. "You mean your bed. I don't have a bed anymore. I know why. It's because I'm not part of the team! I'm no use anymore. Just a broken Russian dolly. Dress me and undress me. They played with me and they broke me into little pieces. Nobody wants little pieces."

"That isn't true, Nat. You're not broken."

"You just say that because you have to. I'm your _responsibility. _Remember? Fury said you had to take it 'cause you're the one that brought me here. Remember? He said 'If you want the Russian bitch so much, fine, but you better take responsibility for the little killer.' He said I was going to turn on you, but you know I could never turn on you. I would never turn on you!" He steps into the elevator and its so full of everyone.

"You know damn well its never been about Fury, Tasha." His tone is so harsh. Why is he so mad at me? Banner is in the elevator. He's going to Hulk! I start yelling and Clint shooshes me. "It's okay."

"He's going to Hulk!" I scream.

Banner comes closer, looking at me directly in the eye. "I'm not going to change." He tells me calmly. "Try to relax."

I hear the beeping of the elevator as it reaches each new level. Its soothing. I lean my head back up to Clint's chest.

"What's your real name?" Stark asks from behind Clint.

"It was Natalia Romanova when I was born. In the Red Room they made me RBW107. I'm Natasha now, remember? Romanoff. I have it in my file." I answer before I can stop it or think. Did he forget my name? Maybe he's getting it confused with Natalie Rushman.

"Why are you asking about her name?" Steve asks, sounding annoyed.

"We've got a spy on truth serum. This is never going to happen again! I may as well get some information while we're here."

Clint glares at him and holds me tighter, staring straight ahead at the buttons as they light up. Banner just looks thoughtful.

"That woman is in no condition to play your games, Stark." Steve, again. He's still trying to teach Stark manners. I laugh at the futility of the undertaking.

"So how long have you been in love with Katniss here?" Stark asks casually, smirking at Clint.

Don't answer. Don't answer. It's just a trick. Hold it together. It's just the drugs. Oh God, there's Banner again! He's going to Hulk! "I don't understand!" I yell, hoping to make it all stop.

"It's a simple question, really. Love." He types something into his Ipad and then badly butchers the word "похоть." _Lust_ "How long have you been in love with your partner? You do love him." He's asking about lust and love at the same time.

Everything is so confusing. "The Red Room. They said no. I can't do that. I can't do that. Its all chemicals and bodies. Pretty bodies are useful... get you want you want. I just had to do what they ordered. There is no love. Love is for children, like Santa Claus. He's my partner! He's my partner. He doesn't want my body. He leaves it alone. He doesn't make me. I hate it all so much! I hate it until I get to crack their necks and see the eyes roll back in their skulls, but not Clint, not Clint. He lets me sleep. I just want to sleep 'cause I'm so tired. Why am I so tired?"

Everyone in the elevator is staring at me now and they're all so quiet. So quiet! Stop interrogating me! I can't move. I can't move. I can't move. Where's Clint? I want- no, here he is. He's holding me. It's okay. Hold it together. Just don't talk. Don't talk. Its a test. This is what they want.

The buttons beep and the door opens. It's bright. I'm clinging to Clint's shirt, only I can't grip it properly. Nothing works. I need some water. I'm so thirsty. His mouth is at my ear. "It's okay, Tasha. I've got you."

I let out a breath. I don't understand. He's got me though, I know he does. "Water." I hear myself whine. I'm truly nothing like myself. What is going on here? I need water. Clint looks down at me, but continues walking

"I'll get you some water, I'm just going to lay you down first."

"I'll get it." The other men are all just standing there, staring awkwardly back and forth at each other and at me, but Steve rushes forward and immediately heads to the kitchen. I'm in Clint's apartment now. The bed is soft as he lays me down and goes to the dresser, pulling out a t-shirt and some of my pajama shorts.

I see Steve coming back with some water. He helps me to sit up and holds the glass up to my mouth so I can drink some. My throat is on fire, but I can only manage a few gulps.

"Thanks." Clint mutters to Steve. He sounds anxious and exhausted and desperate in a way I've never heard him.

Steve places the still mostly full glass of water down on the nightstand beside me along with all the bottles of pills that Clint has been force feeding me for the last I don't even know how long. He nods to Clint as he stands back up to his full height from where he had been crouched down beside me, moving towards the door that led back to the communal Avengers space.

"Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, Steve." I don't think I've heard Clint call him by his first name before. Interesting.

Steve gives him a small, sad smile and nods again as he reaches for the door and then freezes, looking back one last time at the archer. "I mean it. I don't mind at all. Anything I can do to help." Then, without waiting for a response, he's gone and the door is shut tight behind him, leaving Clint and I alone.

Clint brings the oversized t-shirt and the shorts over and sits in front of me, reaching forward and leaning me towards him. "You're not broken, Tasha. I've never...this isn't about responsibility." He tells me softly as he unbuttons the front of my shirt, gently popping each one out of it's respective button hole with his thick fingers, and peels the fabric off over my shoulders.

I try to hold myself together and concentrate. I know what he's saying is important. His hands are warm and soft even despite all the callouses as he unclasps my bra and drops it over on the floor along with the shirt. I watch him. He unfolds the clean t-shirt and barely even looks at my chest as I feel the soft cotton t-shirt come over my head. He leans me back down to the pillow again and tugs off my jeans so I don't have to sleep in them, replacing them with my shorts as if he's done this a thousand times. I feel calmer now, but still so confused. Everything is fuzzy, well, everything except for Clint anyway.

"What happened?" I ask the man sitting in front of me on the bed. He's finished changing my clothes, but stays here with me. I think they already told me what happened, but I can't remember now anyway. I'm just relieved that everyone's gone except my partner. I don't mind playing the victim as long as I'm controlling the situation, but I'm intensely uncomfortable with anyone seeing me actually vulnerable.

"You had an episode and I gave you the wrong injection. It was supposed to knock you out but it ended up being a truth serum for the Hulk. You won't be able to to lie until it wears off."

I nod, beginning to understand better as the haze and hysteria begins to fade away. "Did I hurt anyone?" I ask, inspecting his slightly swollen skin around his beautiful grey-blue eyes. I notice the right one is a little blackened.

He smiles and shakes his head. Apparently he doesn't think he counts.

"Ask me a question." I demand, needing to test the my abilities to handle them.

"That time back in Geneva. The first time they paired us up to play a married couple. Phil didn't really tell you we had to sleep in the same bed; it's against S.H.I.E.L.D. policy. I looked it up when I got back. You just wanted to, didn't you?" He asks. I know what he's trying to do. He's picking something he knows I wouldn't want to admit to in order to give me more motivation to fight answering.

"Yes." The word rips out of my throat before I even have time to process what is happening. Well, I guess motivation doesn't help. Great. Anyway, it's not like I remember Clint complaining. When I had shown up in his room that night, purposely wearing his favorite t-shirt and nothing else, he had all the shock in his expression as someone looking at a Yeti. In fact, I'm pretty sure that even if I had been telling the truth, wrapping his arms around my torso and immediately pulling me up into a spooning position with him would probably have been considered a little excessive for just keeping our cover. Especially since we were completely alone with zero chance of anyone bugging the house. I thought it was odd that he wanted to cuddle instead of just having sex like I had intended, but it had been worth it when I figured out that I could actually fall asleep with him there pretty immediately instead of spending the first two hours staring at the ceiling and remembering all the faces from the Red Room and the people I'd killed. At first I just thought it was an anomaly and wouldn't last. It's been over three years of spooning with him off and on (usually on undercover missions, but sometimes in the tower even before all this) and it still works like a charm though.

He smiles at me and I know we're both re-living the same memories. "Tell Banner I expect a commission if he's going to use me as a lab rat." I snap, joking, but still annoyed.

"At least you can be sarcastic." He smiles at me like he used to then, before all this sickness mess and crawls to sit next to me at the head of the bed, resting his hand on mine atop my thigh.

I smile back at him, relieved for the momentary normalcy. "Thanks for getting me away from the rest of them. It's gonna take me hours to reprogram Tony's network all over again later. At least no one got anything personal though." My body is still unnaturally heavy and difficult to move from whatever Banner's cocktail contained, but I could move my hands well enough and I began to lazily play with Clint's calloused hand that rested high on the skin of my thigh, drawing little patterns into his skin.

A brief flicker of guilt passes through Clint's expression. No one else would have seen it, but I know him too well. My hand freezes and I can feel him ever so slightly tense up. "Clint? What did I say earlier?"

His hand grips mine harder, imploring me not to remove it, but I snatch it away despite his attempts. "Banner was trying to get your medical history..." _Oh shit._

"What do you know?" I demand, glaring at him and preparing myself mentally for whatever is coming next. It could be any one of a thousand things. Clint knows me better than anyone, but still, for every one thing he's gotten me to tell him over the years there's a good dozen I've made sure he doesn't know. There's no reason he needs that burden.

"Why didn't you tell me they sterilized you?"

I do my best to keep my features perfectly neutral. Don't answer. Don't ans- "Because I knew it would upset you and you can't change what the Red Room did to me." Comes the automatic serum-induced word vomit. I really, really hate this truth serum shit. Banner is going to pay dearly for this.

I take a breath and do my best to damage control, distancing myself as best I can from the situation and automatically zeroing in on what I can say to most effectively change the topic from Clint questioning me about other things they did to me to something that will put him on the defense. "What do you want from me, Clint? I don't know what we're doing anymore. Everything was fine and then I get sick and it's like...you're not even my partner anymore."

"What am I supposed to do Tasha?" He asks, standing up from his place beside me instead of answering my question. It must be nice to have that luxury. "You know damn well how I feel about you!"

"Leave." I tell him. It's true. It is what he's supposed to do as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. I'm not an active agent anymore and he is supposed to be reassigned. Of course, that would mean taking everything away that I have to care about. My skills, my body, my job, my partner. Those are the only things I have in life and they're all dissolving from underneath me. I don't allow myself to even consider what he meant in the after comment.

He eyes me for a long time, trying to gauge what I really think, most likely, before asking in a low and deadly serious tone "Do you want me to leave you Tasha?" That's a low blow to ask with him knowing I can't help what comes out.

"No!" More truth serum vomit. Great. He would be better off if he did leave. That's what needs to happen for his sake. I'm selfish though, and can't help but want him to stay with me. Now how am I ever supposed to convince him after this? "Please don't ask me anymore questions." I beg him in a way few people have ever heard and none have ever previously lived to repeat. If this keeps up, things are going to get very bad very fast.

Clint doesn't meet my eyes, still in some sort of deep thought. "You're right. It isn't fair." I let out a breath of relief and relax a little. Then he plops down onto the rather uncomfortable chair behind him. He won't stay there. I know him too well.

"So...I'm just gonna lay out all my cards for you before I ask you one last question. After that, I promise I won't ask you anything until this wears off." I can only watch from my place as he gets up from sitting in front of me on the mattress and begins to pace around the apartment. It's a nervous habit of his that he only ever let his guard down enough to show around me and Coulson. I don't want to know what he's going to say. I want him to come over here and just kiss me. We can pretend we are on an undercover mission and have an excuse. It's always okay as long as neither of us admits to what it really is.

"When I shot you" he doesn't need to specify that it was the day we met, he's only ever shot me the once "It had nothing to do with your skill set. I lied. I didn't care about S.H.I.E.L.D. or that you'd be an asset." _Huh. I actually didn't know that one. Interesting._

"What does this have to do with any-" He shooshes as he continues to pace. It's a bad sign. It meant he was afraid of loosing his nerve if I got him to stop for a moment.

"I shot you because I watched you do everything you did that day, I saw everything, and that whole day I was going to kill you and then you took your mask off for just one second in that alleyway. One second and I saw _you. _I saw you for real in just that one second and I loved you." He looks up from where he's been looking everywhere else and makes eye contact with me, holding it so I can read his face and see the sincerity there.

I hadn't known the extent of his surveillance on me before this. Watching me the whole day meant he saw me take three perverted politicians into bed with me to interrogate. That night had been the last I'd ever had to do that, as S.H.I.E.L.D. only makes me pretend, get close to maybe, but never actually to go through with having sex for the job. I haven't ever done it in between then and the Estonia incident. It was one of the things I loved most about working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Normally the idea of him seeing that would embarrass me, but right now I can't get past the end of his statement to properly consider the beginning of it.

дерьмо _Shit_

"I've been in love with you ever since." His eyes are begging me for acceptance.

заткнись! заткнись! заткнись! _Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! _

"I measured my days in those first few months by whether or not you would just let me see you, even for a second. Just one second and that's all I'd need. For months I told myself it was enough. You became my best friend. My only friend I've had since I was a kid. Every time you let me see more I just couldn't get enough. I know you don't believe in all that and I know you don't do relationships, but we've already been in one for years. I'm a selfish bastard and I know it, but I just can't help myself. I want you. I want you as my partner or as my friend or as my wife or whatever it is that you'll allow me, but I can't help but want you. That has never changed and it never will. I can't help it and I'm sorry."

For a long time I just sit there, trying to think and staring dumbly up at him. Excuse me? He what? "Ты идиот." I mumble. Idiot. What the hell is he thinking? He can't say shit to me like that!

"Вы не можете сказать дерьмо, как это мне! Какого черта я должен делать с этим? Я знаю, что ты любишь меня." I know I'm yelling at him in russian, but english is just too soft of a language to express what's going through my mind right now and, anyway, I had taught him to be fluent in my native tongue long ago.

It isn't how this works! We play with each other and joke about Fury's continued undercover assignments forcing us to play the couple. We kiss each other when we have an excuse and lay together so we can sleep sometimes without all the nightmares. I lean on him on the couch because he's so warm and I know it's a sure-fire way to make him relax. He makes me the tea that I like and I fix his coffee when it's late. We use each other as cover stories when we want the other agents to leave us alone.

What happened to that silent agreement we always had to never ever talk about this? It's okay when he says he loves me and he's just playing. I'm used to that. I'll cuss at him in russian and he'll say how much he loves me with a big fat smirk on his face and I'll cuss at him some more because I know he likes it and that's our script. That's what we do. We don't spout out long declarations of love! We just don't. He's ruining everything and I can't handle this!

Shit like that isn't something people like us can afford to admit out loud. It's gonna get him killed. It's okay as long as we're pretending, but-

He comes back over to in front of me once again, clasping both of his hands over the closest one of mine and giving me a look at makes me want nothing more than to reassure him. "I need to know if I can have you." His voice is wavering. He's clearly more nervous than I've ever seen him before. "No covers. No pretending. I want to hear you say it." It's a challenge. His voice is stern, but he doesn't phrase it as a question. He's not forcing my answer.

I won't give it to him either. Not like this. Not when I don't know if I'll ever be able to stand on my own two feet again. "I'll tell you after my next mission." I reply to his disappointment. We both know how slim the chances are of that happening.

Immediately he stops holding his eye contact, utterly dejected. I want so much to fix it. I want to kiss him. I want to tell him I'll do whatever he wants, if only he stops looking so heartbroken. Doesn't he know me at all? Doesn't he know I'd do anything he wanted if only I were capable of it? I can play the wife all day. I can't be one. I can't give him picket fences and babies. I not equipped for that...physically or mentally. I can give him my body, right here and now and it'd be fine with me, but I get the feeling that doing so would only make everything worse. I don't even know how to do something as simple as sex if I'm not pretending to be someone else and if he figured that out while inside of me it would break him. Doesn't he know that I've already given him everything I know how to give?

"What's your question?" I ask him, remembering that he said he had one more for me and wanting to get it over with.

He pulls his disappointment from his features, though I know how much I had just hurt him by refusing an answer, and somehow manages to pull on his usual smirk. "What do you want for lunch?"


	9. Thor

It is night as I arrive on Midguard up on the roof of the Avenger's Tower. I came to visit Jane but, as usual, I stop to visit my friends first to make sure all is well. The city is quiet tonight except for the occasional siren and I make my way over to the door to enter the top floor until I see the warrior archer perched on a lawn chair amidst a collection of empty ale cans. He stares up at the sky at first, until I make my presence known to him.

"Hello, my friend." I announce, clasping him on the back joyfully and looking up to see whatever it is that has him so interested. It is only the night sky as it has always been here. The constellations are the same. I move my gaze down to him once again to study his face and notice the deep sadness written there.

"Hey Thor." He answered, voice low and devoted of any joy.

"Are you not happy to see me, friend?" I inquire. It is not like Clint to not stand and clap his hand at my shoulder back in greeting.

"What? Oh. Yeah. Sorry 'bout that. It's just been a long day I guess." Knowing a friend in need when I see one, I look around and pull the closest spare lawn chair up next to his and rest on it, albeit a bit uncomfortably. These mortal furnishing are always too tiny. He hands me a beer and I pop the top of the can open as Selvick had taught me to do at the bar a few mortal years ago.

"Something is troubling you." I state, taking a sip of the foul liquid and leaning back into my chair.

The man beside me just stares ahead, as if lost in thought in a world far away from here. "How is Jane?" He surprises me by querying.

"She is well." _She is getting older each year with nothing for me to do to stop it. One day she will die and I will never again feel joy. But, for the moment, she is still young and healthy and beautiful. _I think, a little bitterly. "And your lady Natasha?"

Clint scoffs, taking another long draw from his beer and staring ahead some more. "You're a lucky man, Thor. Your girlfriend loves you."

"Ah, trouble with the women." I surmise. "Are they not the greatest mystery of all? Certainly more complex than anything out there you could be studying." I wave my arm to gesture to the night sky and the archer lets out a bitter chuckle.

"Do you ever want to have kids? With Jane, I mean."

The question is a bit unexpected, but not difficult. "They are a gift. I should like to have a dozen!" I announce, laughing merrily as I think of Jane swollen with child and the beautiful sight it would make.

I see his eyebrows raise at this, a slight grin appearing on his face before it is washed away by the tide of bitter anguish that replaces it. I worry for the man sitting next to me. "Is there a congratulations in order?" Is Lady Natasha with child? He is afraid for her? I thought mortal medicine had reached the point to which it is safe for women to give life.

He only shakes his head and crumples his beer can, tossing it aside and popping open another. I finish mine quickly so as to keep up. "Lady Natasha is a warrior woman! I have great respect for her. She is strong, like my friend Lady Sif of Asgaurd."

"Yeah she is. She's the strongest, smartest, most beautiful woman I've ever met and I blew it. And the thing is I knew I should shut up. She won't let herself admit to anything if it isn't about some dammed mission. But I can't just pretend that it's all about the job anymore! It's been eight years! Eight years of me following her around like an idiot and being too much of a coward to do anything about it."

This is surprising. I have always known Lady Natasha to be reserved. She must work harder in a world of male soldiers to prove her strength as a female warrior. I had assumed it was different behind closed doors. Perhaps there is more to the complexity of that woman than I knew. "She has refused to bear your children then?" I ask, a little confused. What where the common mating rituals of American Midguardians in this period of time again? Was not some marriage ceremony usually involved?

Clint snorts and continues to drink. I'm beginning to wonder how much of this refreshment a mere mortal of his size can hold. "She can't. They took that away from her too. It's like she thinks she isn't a real person after everything."

I listen to him quietly. Barrenness is a great sadness when it happens to couples in Asguard. It is considered a great joy to see your lover in a young face. I would like very much to meet a young version of Jane and myself...a child that is our two souls combined into one living flesh. I know a little about what he might mean about who "they" are. Upon interrogation, Loki told me much about what he had learned inside of the mind of Clint Barton. Ultimately, I believe it was his downfall to choose the lover of the warrior woman Natasha. Not many people can trick my brother, for that she has even his respect.

"I observed Lady Natasha whilst on board the flying machine during my brother's antics. She was most determined to retrieve you alive. I know she cares deeply for you." I offer, wondering what exactly it is in that has one of the most collected mortals I know acting in this manner.

"I know she does too. But she won't admit it. She loves me and I love her and it should be so much more simple than it is."

I finish my second can. It still tastes as foul as it did to begin with, much to my disappointment. Next time I arrive, I will come bearing good ale to share with my friend. "I will visit her then. Perhaps I can put a good word in for you, my friend." I am not one to generally get involved in these matters, but I do not like seeing my teammate in such sorrow.

Clint says something as I pull the door shut behind me, but it is too late. I cannot hear him from my place and my intentions are to go straight to my friend lady Natasha so that this quarrel can be put to an end.

Not wishing to go to her personal apartments, as it would be unbefitting of me to be alone with her in such a place, I am joyed to see the warrior woman's fiery red hair seated at the table just inside Steve Roger's open apartment door. He is serving her water and crackers and she looks much happier than her unfortunate lover upstairs. Of course, she is masterful enough at deceptions to fool my brother, so I cannot be sure if her smile is genuine. Knowing Steve well, I step inside without a second thought.

"Hello my friends!" I boom, still happy to see them alive and well despite the situation at hand. Without waiting for a response from the surprised pair I continue, wishing to get the vile problem solved and behind everyone "I must speak with you, Lady Natasha. The archer warrior is in a most sorrowful state. Do you no longer wish for his affections?"

"No!" She practically yells at me. Wait, no she doesn't want his affections, or no to my question?

Steve looks at her as though equally confused and then back to me "Umm, Thor. I'm very happy to see you here and all, but this might not be the best time-"

"Even Loki has spoke of your warrior's love! He wished to use it against him in his schemes. Is it his fault you no longer care for him? Did Loki's threats to force warrior Clint to violate you weaken your love?"

"No." She practically spits the moment I finish talking. Something seemed odd about it, as if she felt unnaturally driven to speak. Her hands grip the table's edge in front of her and her knuckles go white with the force in which she clings to it.

"Then what has caused this turmoil?" I ask, thinking the matter much simpler than the drunken man on the roof made it out to be. Warrior Steve is looking back and forth from Natasha to myself with concern, but as though he is unsure of what to do. She has not replaced the archer with the captain, has she?

"I don't know how to give him what he wants! I can't be an agent anymore and I can't be a wife and I don't know what I am and I can't drag him down with me because he'll break if I try and fail at it." The words come quickly and automatically in a manner that does not seem befitting of Lady Natasha. Something is aloof here.

"Thor!" Steve raises his voice at me and places himself in between me and the female warrior. I'm still trying to understand what she meant in her strange words. "You can't ask her any questions right now. She's been drugged to have to answer."

_Oh._

"My apologies." I offer, hoping the maiden will not be cross. It would be a great challenge to fight her without the use of my hammer, but I am not sure who would win. Since there is no honor in besting or being bested by a woman, it would be unwise to entice her to fight me.

Steve turns from me and goes over to offer a hand at her shoulder, taking the seat nearest to her. I move forward as well, sitting across from the fiery haired warrior.

"You can go tell Barton to get his stupid мудак back inside if he isn't too drunk to walk." Muttering to herself, she adds "ступид идиот не может держать язык за зубами." _Stupid idiot doesn't even know how to keep his mouth shut._ "I don't know how this works on Asguard, but here we mind our own damned business." She snaps as Steve passes a plate of plain salt crackers from the counter behind his seat to the place in front of her. She glances down to the plate and then back up to her host, sighing "You're just as bad as Clint." I begin to wonder if she knows that I understand all the earthly languages, but I don't comment on it as I understand her to already be displeased.

"Want me to get him?" Steve questions her gently when I make no move to do so.

"Yes." The word automatically comes, her lips a slave to the drug. It's most intriguing. If only we had something like this on Asguard for Loki. Steve leaves immediately without asking me where to look. We all know how our friend prefers his solace atop the roof.

I remain in my place as Natasha nibbles on the side of one of the little tan squares, before putting most of it back down on her plate as though she is unable to stomach eating the rest. "Want some crackers? She sighs, pushing the plate over to me without waiting for a response. I smile. She knows me well. The strange food lacks almost any flavor, but I finish it all in seconds anyway as she simply sits quietly and sips at her water glass.

When Warrior Steve comes in with Warrior Clint in tow, Lady Natasha simply gets up and walks out to the door to meet him. I notice she is limping, no doubt from some recent glorious battle, but she makes it to him and they leave, stumbling back down the hall to his apartment together after a long pause in which they seemed to be communicating somehow with no words. Steve opens his mouth to say something, but then JARVIS, Warrior Tony's strange bodiless manservant talks from wherever his invisible place here is "Mr. Stark is requesting both of your presence in the upper lounge, sir."

"Did he say why?" My companion questions, looking up and around the ceiling as if to search for the bodiless presence.

"No, sir."

Both of us walk up to the elevator and go up the three stories to meet the owner of the tower and find him pouring glasses of dark liquid into short glasses with Lady Pepper sitting on the couch behind him on her square screen...thingy that lights up. Some sort of mortal magic. The good doctor is also there, receiving a glass and taking long drink. I hope it isn't more of the foul ale that the archer warrior was drinking on the roof.

"Thor. Good to see you buddy. Looking good, hey, is that new drapery?"

I smile at him and dismiss his mockery. I can't expect simple commoner mortals to comprehend Asguardian armor or fashion. "Greetings, metal man!" I take the drink he practically shoves into my hand at this and grin.

The host turns to hand yet another glass to the captain and motions for all of us to join him where Lady Pepper is already sitting.

"What's this all about?" Steve asks as he takes a seat beside me and Tony settles in beside Pepper, who looks much happier than I've seen her previously.

"Team meeting. Plus, we're celebrating. Pepper and I are engaged."


	10. 3 Clint

I can't do this anymore. Going and retrieving Nat when she's in a jam is one thing, but watching her like this is a complete other. I shouldn't have said it. Hell, I knew I shouldn't when I opened my mouth to do it. She can't expect me to watch her go through all this and not say anything. I had to. She didn't give me a choice! How dare she think she's just a burden to me? A responsibility that Fury stuck me with for bringing home the stray?

"I'm not going to apologize for telling you the truth." I say, feeling a bit tipsy, as we both stumble back to our apartment. I wait for the impending hit or punch or kick or knife stab she's bound to inflict on my face- or possibly balls, but nothing happens and my eyes come back up to see her, she just looking tired.

"Let's just get home." She replies a neutral tone that borders on professional. I look at my watch. Shit.

"You're ten minutes late for your pills." I say, feeling suddenly ashamed at not taking care of her right. How is she supposed to get better if I don't-

"It's fine." She interrupts forcefully as we get to the door and I lean forward for the retinal scanner to read my eyes and let us in.

As soon as we are, I head straight to where I keep her meds and start organizing things. It takes several minutes as there are several and a few of them have to be split and others I have to count out. I concentrate on making sure everything is just right and then double checking before turning to see her studying me, the anger erased from her features and a pensive look gracing her face.

"Clint, whatever you think about how I feel about you, I want you to know that you're the only person I've ever met that doesn't make me feel like I'm on autopilot. Like maybe I'm not just some robot." It's a rehearsed statement, but with Natasha that doesn't mean it isn't geniune. I give her a smile; it's small and sad but it will have to do as I bring the pills over the five feet or so to where she simply stands there and I hold them up to her in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She's completely ignoring the pills, but she's looking at at me and I know that look. She's trying for me.

After a long moment of both of us simply staying where we are and doing what we do best, speaking to each other without any of the talking, she sighs and reaches forward, holding her porcelain palm out to me and taking the handful of pills I gently pour into it. I watch her throw them all into her mouth at once and swallow with a big gulp of water.

"You're not." I soothe finally, taking her smooth cheeks into my hands and relief floods through my entire body when she subconsciously leans into my touch instead of dismissing it. I watch her emerald eyes a second too long and begin to get lost. Its a familiar problem for me, but one that I thoroughly enjoy.

Its that problem that gives me the feeling that maybe everything will be okay after all. She doesn't get sick again all night. She just reads. She sits leaned up against my side, nestled on the couch with my arm around her like we've done for years, and reads one of her long boring Russian novels that she enjoys so much...except when I look down at it the title isn't in Russian, but Turkish. _When the hell had Nat learned Turkish?_

"_Eylül_" I read aloud from my place. She grins.

"Since when can you read Turkish?" I ask, not even trying to hide the confusion from my face.

She grins. It's a genuine expression that I'll never get tired of seeing. The first time she had given me one was after we had nearly beat each other to death sparring in a training room six months after I brought her into S.H.I.E.L.D. and she figured out that she could actually let loose in fighting me. I could hold my own against her- barely, and mostly only because I had spent so much time prior to that observing how she moved when she fought other people. It had happened in a flash so quickly that I undoubtably would have missed it had I not been currently pinning her against the floor with only a couple inches between our faces. Her hair was plastered to her head with sweat and she was covered in sand that had spilt out from one of the punching bags she had hit earlier with a knife. The tiny yellow grains had gotten stuck to her sticky skin as we had rolled around on the floor. For that second her emerald eyes shined at me and the carefree grin that she quickly hid back behind the indifferent mask was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

"Three months." Comes her simple reply.

"Oh." I'll never get used to the way the woman can pick up languages like a damn computer downloading an app.

"That makes what, like seven?" I wonder aloud,

"Eight, if you count sign language." I chuckle and nod. Right. The sign language she had learned for me after an explosion had caused me to go almost completely deaf a few years ago. I'd gotten hearing aids, but didn't like wearing them except when I absolutely had to. Strangely, the prospect of me being permanently deaf upset her much more than it did me and I think learning sign language at her usual lightning speed was part of her way of coping with it. It didn't end up being totally necessary and I barely learned anything except for the essential phrases myself... "Are we out of beer?", "Where did you put my arrows?", "Sorry", "Please don't kill me Tasha", and the alphabet mostly. By the time I had picked those up she was completely fluent and doing her best to speak to me whenever I had my hearing aids out in a language that I didn't really understand myself.

It isn't an issue anymore as now I have cochlear implants that make the disability almost nonexistent, but during the period before I met Stark and he suggested them, Nat and I became experts at talking to each other in our own silent language. Our language is better than sign. It doesn't require any big sweeping hand motions or anything that would give our conversation away to onlookers.

A raised left eyebrow meant "Do you want to?" The right one-"It's okay with me if it is with you." A slight tug to the right of the lips- "make the move", to the left "wait". There were three different types of shrugs alone, which meant "I'm ready to get out of here", or "I'm hungry" or "I'm about to kick your ass if you don't stop that!" Usually the third type was used exclusively by Nat. A blink means "cover me"; a wink means "I've got the mark", a wink with the other eye means "I'm lost."

Then there was all the signs simply related to Natasha's hair that I couldn't even do back. Tucking it behind her right ear means "get over here and help me", the left ear meant "stay away". Holding it off her neck and fanning herself was to tell me the situation is too hot and we need to get out, or that they're onto us. Pulling it down or taking a pin out meant "someone is actively about to kill me". Running her fingers through it meant that she wanted to leave. She used that one a lot around the tower when the others just got to be much for her to deal with. Tony in particular. She wasn't used to simply hanging out with a group of people for the hell of it and generally preferred her solace.

Over the years that solace had somehow changed to include me...probably from all the unhealthy amounts of time we were forced to spend together in those first couple of years on missions. There are dozens of others, covering everything from "I need to use the restroom" to "wanna help me kill this idiot?" to Nat's "I need you to hold me but won't ever admit it" sign that I don't even think she knows she does.

We have our own little world we built around us, I realize. I'm not sure if it's a good thing, especially for her. She takes my antisocial tendencies to a whole other level of extreme and I know our way of communicating makes the other avengers feel alienated sometimes. They know they'll never know us like we know each other. They know that whatever it is between us they can't ever even touch. I worry for her sometimes if something were to ever happen to me. In our job it's almost a guarantee one of us will end up dead in some gory horrific way...or it was until I put in my paperwork to retire the other day. No one beside Coulson and Fury know it yet. It won't be finalized until Tuesday, but I'm not sticking around to get myself killed out in the field when Tasha needs me to take care of her at home. The funny thing is that Fury wasn't even surprised when I told him. He just sighed and handed me the already printed out paperwork.

"I figured you'd do something stupid like this. You gonna marry her now that there's no red tape?" He asked with an air of slight curiosity.

I had grinned at that. Even Fury himself didn't fully know what we were to each other. "I think she would beat me to death if I ever asked." I answered him simply.

The director had given me a genuine smile at that. "Just tell me one thing, Barton. If Stark or Banner comes up with some crazy assed way to fix it, should I expect you two back?" I lean backwards in my seat. I'm sure they're working on it. Banner didn't just show up from halfway across the world where we was doing charity medical work for no reason. I couldn't count on them to fix all our problems though, and I didn't want to get my hopes up. A person can only get lucky so many times before something brings them down and with a rap sheet like Natasha Romanoff's it's just a miracle she's made it this long.

"I go where she goes." I reply truthfully. I'll never work with anyone else, but neither will she. It's a package deal with us. It has been since the moment I tranquilized her and called Coulson to tell him he had a new agent.

I'm brought out of my thoughts when the Russian currently curled up into my side squirms ever so slightly and I'm reminded that I need to try to make her eat again. I know she's nauseous more often than not now, but she's starting to look like a toothpick and I can feel each of her ribs with my palm.

"Don't even think about it Barton. I already ate at Steve's." She insists before I even say a word. Damn, she's good.

"What did you eat?" I sigh, leaning back from her a little to look at her tiny frame and poke her in the ribs to help get my point across.

She gives me the _it's none of your damned business _glare, but still answers. "Crackers. Steve got me crackers."

I shoot her a skeptic look. "Am I going to have to crack into the video surveillance myself to check or are you going to admit you're a liar right now?"

She scoffs and I know I've won. "I've got soup."

She rolls her eyes and I know what she's thinking. _No, you idiot. I hate soup. You know I hate soup._

"I've got applesauce." I try.

"I'm sick, Barton, not a toddler." I chuckle, wondering if she knows that I spoon fed her half a jar when she was under with Banner's serum. I should have found something more fattening, but it is damn hard to get an unconscious person to swallow and I was afraid of choking her.

"Eggs?" I try...getting a bit desperate.

The redhead sighs and slumps against me a bit more. "You know I still weigh more now than when you met me?" It's a terrible argument. She was half-starved when I met her and looked close to being emaciated all the under false bravado and layers of makeup she wore to disguise her real facial features.

I give her my best set of puppy-dog eyes that I reserve for only the most important of situations. "Please, Tasha?" I know she can never say no to this expression.

"Dammit, Clint! Fine! I hate you." I'm up and in the kitchenette before she's even finished cussing me. I break open half a dozen eggs, frying them just as I know she likes. "Боже мой, этот идиот собирается отвезти меня убить его еще" _My God, this idiot is going to drive me to kill him yet._ I hear her mutter under her breath. I smile. I'm a messed up man for thinking its sexy when she cusses me out in Russian, but what can I say? My relationship with her is proof that I'm a masochist.

"As long as you do it with your legs wrapped around my neck I'll die a happy man." I retort back only to hear her snort.

"In you're dreams, Clint."

"Yes ma'am. Every night." I jab back. I'm not being serious of course. Why would I have to dream about her anymore when I get to hold her to me now every night? I already have everything I want except for the consent from her.

The comment appears to throw her for a minute. "What exactly about me has you so hot and bothered anyway Barton? You know the filth that I've brought to bed with me."

A moment of honesty. That's rare for her. Of course, she's wasting it by beating herself up again. "Maybe all the perversion gets me hot." I joke, trying to keep the mood light as I cook her eggs and add a little pepper.

I turn to see her glaring at me. "No, it doesn't." By this point the eggs are finished cooking and I slide them onto a plate and begin to make my way back over to her with a fork and napkin.

"I've seen you at your worst, Tasha. I wish for you're sake you never had to do any of those things. But I don't care if you seduced Satan himself. Nothing you could have done will change how I look at you. I knew that stuff about you from the beginning. You can grow old and gray and wrinkled drag me straight to the gates of hell with you and I'll still look at you the same."

I'm hoping that it finally sinks in for her. I know that she knows it somewhere hidden down deep, just like I know she loves me as much as I love her. It's just harder for her to admit to it than it is for me. I had a messed up childhood, but I wasn't trained to be a robotic seductress killing machine from the time I could talk like she was. I know that there's a very real possibility that she'll never get to the place where she can love me without thinking about all that. I know that nothing I can do will ever erase what's been done to her. I just think it's worth trying anyway.

"You think we'll still be sitting around looking at each other when we're old?"

"No, I think we'll end up going down in a blaze of glory together before we ever get the chance." I smile, knowing she would like that. "Seriously, it'll be the stuff of legend. Agents will be telling the stories of our adventures for decades."

"You're delusional, Barton. S.H.I.E.L.D. will just cover it all up and erase our files like they do with everything else."

"Maybe not." I grin at her annoyed expression as she glares at me with her arms crossed on the couch.

"Maybe the abominable snowman is real."

"Maybe you'll eat your dammed eggs before I have to cut them into tiny pieces and shove them down your fucking throat." I threaten. She knows I'll do it too. I don't like the idea of using my knowledge of her new bodily weaknesses against her, but I will if that's what it takes to keep her from starving herself to death.

I hold my ground as she searches me for any hint of jesting and she must come to the same conclusion because the next thing I know she's promptly cutting the food into polite pieces and spearing them onto her fork…violently. It's like she's beating up some mortal enemy by stabbing it to death with the cutlery.

Later she's taking her bath in the only bathroom when I decide to brush my teeth. Before all this I wouldn't have just walked in on her like this, but in the last couple weeks I've seen her naked from changing her clothes and cleaning her up so many times that by now I know I can handle it without anything embarrassing happening. She's still gorgeous to me, of course, but I'd never take advantage of her condition.

Of course, the knife that she throws to purposely sink into the door frame two inches from my face upon me entering would suggest that she feels differently. I don't even bother to wonder where the hell it came from. Tasha always had a million knives stashed everywhere that only she knew about. There was probably fifty hidden- before she even moved in with me- in my apartment alone. "What are you doing?"

Crazy Russian. It's not like I can see anything anyway through the two inches of bubbles she has covering the entire surface of the water.

"Oh come on, Tasha. I just want to brush my teeth."

I advance into the bathroom towards the sink and away from her, though I turn around to shoot her a giant smile just to tick her off once I've found the toothpaste on the mess of a counter. The mess isn't hers, of course; everything of hers is always kept perfectly in place. Her room used to look absolutely sterile. I'm glad she's here instead of the other way around. I like my apartment better; it's more homey. I think she was always too afraid of putting any personal touches to hers lest she need to abandon it.

"Wait for your own turn in here Barton. You shouldn't walk in on people."

I start actually brushing my teeth at this, ignoring her completely.

"You realize that I don't actually have to get up to kill you right now?"

I walk over to her, taking my time to really get my back teeth extra thoroughly, and sit on the edge of the large bathtub, daring her. It's a stupid thing to do and I know it. She isn't one to fall through on her threats, but somehow I doubt she'd ever actually seriously injure me on purpose.

Quick as lightning her good arm dashes out from under the bubbles and jerks the toothbrush away from me and around to one of the pressure points on the back of my neck. I don't even feel it when she knocks me unconscious with the toothpaste covered brush end. The only thing that registers is the magnificent view of her walking across the tiled floor soaking wet and not wearing a thing from my awkward place halfway fallen into the tub when I come back into consciousness. My upper body is soaked right through my clothes and my legs are hanging out the side of the tub in a way that must be pretty comical, but all I can do is try to control my breathing and focus on the idea of Coulson in a speedo. Fury wearing a bikini. Dead puppies! Anything to stop what was already happening. For a moment, I mentally freak out at how mad she's going to be when she realizes that I'm staring at her like this and having this...reaction. Then she stops sauntering around and turns to send me an evil smile over her shoulder.

_Oh. My. God. Holy..._oh!

Quickly, I swing my previously dry pelvis and legs over the side to splash into the water and under the bubbles.

She did that on purpose! My God, my partner truly is evil. Forget what I thought earlier, that woman is legitimately trying to kill me. Water is still dripping down her body, running down each sumptuous curve of her perfect porcelain skin and her long wet hair clings to her back and shoulders. She doesn't even reach for a towel. She just stands there, staring at me with an amused expression on her face...like the type she gets right before she gets to kill a mark she's been looking forward to murdering. I know I look like an idiot. Like any of her stupid marks that she has putty in her hands. I know my jaw is hanging wide open. It's stupid. I've seen her naked a hundred times. I've seen her do this to other men_ who are currently dead_ just as often. Neither helped to prepare me for when she aims the routine at me though.

So this is how I'm going to die.

I know for sure this is the case when she begins making her way back over to me, hips swinging a little more than in her usual walk, her eyes smoldering. All in all, it's _really_ not a bad way to go.

"I gave you your chance years ago, Barton." She tells me in a low seductress's voice. "I crawled into bed with you after you spared me in barely more than what I'm wearing now." Which is nothing. I gulp as she leans down over the side of the tub, her hips raised, looking like every porn director in America's dream.

"And You. Said. No."

I feel her lips brush the outside of my ear as she whispers the last little bit to me in almost a purr.

"I'm not one of your marks." I practically squeak at her wicked smirk.

"I was trying to pay back my debt, Clint. But no, instead you make me your partner and drag me around everywhere with you for over two years before I even get a chance to go on a solo mission."

"I didn't want your body used as currency." I finally find my firm voice and, before she can react, I swiftly pull her back into the tub with me by either side of her hips, landing her directly in my lap. "I wanted you."

"Dammit, Clint!" All hints of her former seductress tone is gone, replaced by her normal annoyed voice.

"I want _you_, Nat! I don't care about any of that other bullshit! You don't think I know how many men you've been with or how many ways you can kill me _in_ the act? I don't care! I don't care if we live our whole lives together and we never even have sex! Can you get that through your thick Russian skull? I love you and I'd marry you tomorrow if you'd let me even if I never got to physically touch you once ever again!" Maybe that was a little bit of an exaggeration. I do care about whether or not we could have sex. I'm not gay. But I was telling the truth in general. I would marry her no matter what and after all these years of loving her with no physical benefits even she couldn't accuse me of that being my big motivation.

"What if I don't know how to do that?" The tone in her voice sounds lost and for a second I get a flash back of that young, scarred expression she wore when she thought no one was looking so long ago. I look her in the eyes to see the pure, unfiltered fear that I know is difficult for her to allow me to see.

"Then I'll love you anyway." I say firmly, finally lowering my voice back down to an acceptable inside level and pushing some wet strands of hair behind her ears. Up until now I've always settled for whatever I could get. It isn't easy being her friend, but I'll take it any day over nothing.

She nods almost imperceptibly and then the impossible happens.

She's kissing me.

She kissing me like she has a hundred times before when we're on missions and pretending to be Mr. and Mrs. happily ever after. It's exactly the same except for this time she's not kissing me as Mrs. whoever, she's kissing _me_, Clint Barton, her partner as _herself_, Natasha Romanoff. Instantly, I smile into the kiss before I deepen it. All this time she thinks she doesn't know how to be with me when she's already been doing it. She kisses me the same no matter who we're pretending to be. She's always done that and I know the difference too because I've seen her kiss marks. She does it differently when it's anyone who's not me. I wonder if she even realizes this until I feel her slip her tongue into my mouth and any reasonable conscious thought ceases.

My hands are already on either side of her hips under the water from when I pulled her down to me. I keep them there. I don't want to go too fast. I don't want do anything that could threaten stopping this. My lips travel to the pulse point on her neck and I suck on it lightly like I learned she liked a long time ago. This isn't a new dance. We've been doing this dance together for a long time, we just never finished it.

I feel her good arm rest on my shoulder and the hand connected to it running over the back of my scalp. I silently run one of mine up from her hip to find the other hand that she can't always control well anymore and grasp it, holding it in mine before I use the other to tighten my grip on her and pick her up with me as I carefully stand in the waterlogged tub and step out of it. Her legs wrap around my waist, one side tighter than the other as some of her muscles go involuntarily slack on her, and I carry her over to the bed with her hanging off of me like she was a few nights ago when I found her on the kitchen counter. This time is a little different though with her completely naked and me soaking wet and still in all of my clothes. This time when I get her onto the bed, soaking wet bodies and clothes be damned, she doesn't look away from me when I silently ask her for permission. This time it's me who backs away from her, not to dismiss her, but to begin removing all the soaking clothes sticking to my skin and getting in the way of me feeling her fully.

I crawl back onto the bed once I've stripped to her still simply laying there watching me, more passive than I could ever have imagined her to act in any situation. There's no way that can be an easy thing for her to do and the meaning of that act isn't lost on me. She's literally giving herself to me...not seducing me, not fucking me. She's giving me her trust and silently asking me to show her the meaning of what I'd said in Paris all those weeks ago.

I've slept with a lot of women earlier in my life. When she came into the picture they all suddenly ceased to hold my interest. It's been a while since I've brought a woman to bed with me (since just before I met Natasha to be exact), but I'm not an innocent man.

Still, it's with a trembling hand that I touch my partner for the first time. I'm literally more nervous now than I was the first time I ever had sex at sixteen and it's because I know the woman that I'm touching now will be the only woman I ever touch again for the rest of my life. This is it for me.

My hands explore her familiar body slowly. I already know it like the back of my hand. I know every mole, every freckle, every scar. Many of the scars I can even identify from being there when she got then. I worship them all with my hands and my lips and my tongue. I worship every ridiculously exquisite inch. I don't rush things and I don't say anything stupid like how magnificently beautiful she is. She's heard all that junk. I want to make damn sure that, whatever anyone's done to her before, this is completely different.

For a while she simply watches me with a nervous expression that actually border-lines confused and even a little bit afraid. But after a few moments I look up again to notice that lust had replaced the previously warring emotions in her eyes and I know she'll be okay. My hand finds her mostly limp one again and I keep hold of it during all of my ministrations, doing my best to reassure her. Finally, I allow myself to go to the place between her legs with my mouth and I almost jump when I hear her actually moan. It's a small, heady moan that causes me to freeze in place. I've never heard anything close to that coming out of her mouth. It's an intoxicating sound if there ever really was such a thing and I instantly become singly mindedly hooked on making her keep doing it.

Thank God that I know oral sex is something I'm really good at. After the fifth or sixth moan that I'm almost positive are involuntary because Natasha Romanoff would never willing make those sounds unless she's acting or just plain can't help it, I sneak a glance up to her face as I go.

Her eyes are open and she's staring at me in unmitigated shock. I'm hoping that it's just because she's impressed, but it still causes me to pause long enough to check with her "you okay?"

She uses the split second before I continue to take in a breath and nod at me helplessly. After this, whatever happens to me for the rest of my life now, I know I'm going to die a happy man.

I don't actually have sex with her.

In fact, I never even allow that part of my anatomy to come into direct contact with her. I simply use my hands and my tongue to make absolutely sure she's going to know the difference between me and anyone else who's ever touched her. When her orgasm comes she looks as though she's going through a whole other level of shock and, if I wasn't so caught up in watching her enraptured face a second later and reveling in feeling her tremble uncontrollably underneath me, I would be wondering how the hell a simple orgasm is so surprising to her. Has no one she's ever been with given her a real one at all?

I file the question away for later as I keep going, refusing to stop until either I know she can't handle any more or I pass out from exhaustion. The idea makes me smile inside. This could take a while. The first time it happens its as if she's flat out too shocked to say anything. The second time she's clinging to me and moaning my name the way I've fantasized her doing for the last eight years. The third time she's screaming my name loud enough for everyone in the entire tower to probably hear. The last time before I finally stop she's actually begging me for mercy in russian, all of her ability to speak english effectively forgotten.

I don't know Tasha's history, or possibly lack there of with the body's ability to orgasm, but I do know that I've just found my new favorite hobby.

I climb up to her level on the bed when I know she's had enough and lean forward to peck her on the forehead with a smirk that may be a permanent addition to my face. Her slightly unfocused eyes meet mine with an awe-struck look while she's still on her back panting and trying to catch her breath. I've never been more happy in my life.

"I told you it's different." I tell her simply, pulling her up to my side and holding onto her carefully. I pull the covers up on top of us and continue to smile like the idiot I am. Finally, she catches her breath and leans closer to me, hiding her strangely shy smile into my shoulder and actually giggling. I take another moment to process that one.

Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, one of the most deadly assassins in the world just hid her face in the crook of my neck and _giggled_. Eight years of being partners and she's still finding ways to surprise me.

_Huh._ Is four orgasms really all it takes to make her unwind enough to be happy?

I may never let her out of this bed again.


	11. Pepper

Tony doesn't invite Clint or Natasha to the party/team meeting to celebrate announcing our engagement. He's still angry at her for hacking into our systems. In all honesty it's probably my fault. When she was posing as Natalie Rushman I had given her access to our computers so she could do the job that I had been doing before that. I wasn't happy about hiring her; I knew that Tony only wanted her around for one reason, but she did do an amazing job as an assistant. If she had been a real person rather than simply one of who knows how many characters that Natasha can effectively slip in and out of. She's convincing and easily one of the most impressive people I've ever met.

I didn't trust her for a long time after I learned the truth about just who Natalie Rushman really was. At first I even argued with Tony about giving her a permanent apartment here. How could she ever be trusted? She spent more time around the tower training with whichever man was stupid enough to try and take her on that day than doing anything else. She beat Tony to a pulp five or six times before I forbade him to fight her outside his ironman suit. Then she spent their next dozen sparring matches showing him all the potential weaknesses of the suit. She blew fuses, broke and cut through weak points, and turned four of his best iron mans into scrap metal.

Tony is dumb when it comes to his pride though and has no common sense when it comes to his own safety. I knew that I was never going to get anywhere with him pleading for him to stop the insanity. It was when he came back with a broken nose that I really got angry. How the hell had she even managed to get to his nose?

I remember storming down to where she was still in the training room; doing these crazy acrobatics while fighting Steve. I watched her through the bullet proof, crack resistant, explosion proof glass for over twenty minutes. It wasn't that she was winning necessarily. It was actually a stalemate between the two because she couldn't manage to hurt him enough to keep him down due to the super soldier serum and he could never land any kind of hit on her.

I was stunned. Steve is a super soldier. He isn't even a normal human being and she was fighting him _after_ she finished with Tony the Ironman. Not only that, she made sparring with him look like some complicated dance, as choreographed and elegantly executed as a professional ballet. She wasn't even wearing any armor! Her curly red hair had fallen from the previously sloppy pony tale and it fell into her face as she did this crazy thigh-scissor-thing and took Steve down to the matts, both of them finally resting and out of breath when I take my opportunity to advance into the room.

She might be able to fight the male idiots in the tower until they're all in a bloody plump, but I knew she wouldn't lay a finger on me. She's too smart for that.

"What the hell did you do to Tony?" I demand, my former assistant still laying on the matt and catching her breath. Her bright green eyes glance over to meet mine and I could see the fire she had inside. She really was just a empty killing machine. The perfect weapon packed into a 5' 3 redheaded young woman even smaller than myself.

"His suit is full of weaknesses." She responds breathlessly as Steve helps her up by extending out his arm, having already caught his. She takes it and grins at him as she stands. Well, aren't they just adorable together, I think bitterly. She can charm anyone!

Steve nods to her as he leaves and she nods back, still smiling at him through her lashes in a way I had no doubt he would be thinking about later that night. It was sickening. She ignores me as she fixes her hair back up into the ponytail; this one only slightly better than the last. I think she tied it up just so that it would fall down later whenever she wanted. Probably part of her little seductress act so she could turn all the men in the tower to mush. I tap my four inch Jimmy Choo heel to the wooden floor in front of the matt and continue to stare at her, demanding to be given her full attention before I proceed to tell her off.

"I know you're mad, but I'm doing you a favor." She states before grabbing up her water bottle and downing half of it in one long gulp, still turned away from me.

"And exactly what kind of favor is that?" Oh, this better be good.

"I'm cataloging all the places in his suit that could be targeted and result in an injury to him. If he doesn't know where they are he can't fix them. If I can hurt him in here what's going to happen to him the next time an alien invasion happens or monsters come out?"

I freeze. She's not just trying to be a bitch? She's trying to help him in her own sick and disturbing way?

"What do you care about if he gets hurt?"

She shrugs "He's my teammate. It benefits me to make sure he isn't a liability. Besides," she adds in like an after thought that I have no doubt was done on purpose "I owe you guys. This is the first home I've ever had."

I don't know how to take that statement. What does she mean by that? Where did she grow up? "Oh, well, then I-" I'm still a little lost for words as she finally gives me her full attention and stares up at me, making direct eye contact. If it were anyone else I would be sure they were telling the truth. You don't get to be a high powered assistant executive of one of the wealthiest companies in the world by being naive. I've read up on body language. With Natasha I knew that I she could fool me into believing whatever she wanted, which left me with the only choice of being sure to never believe anything about her at all. For all I knew she could really be a robot. In this crazy world I couldn't eliminate anything as being impossible.

In the end, it wasn't that I had a problem with what I found settled into her eyes, it was that I didn't know who those eyes really belonged to- a character, an assassin, a robot, a girl? I couldn't know.

"-I would appreciate it if you would see that you don't break anything else on him that isn't part of the suit."

"Sure thing." She sounds nothing like she did as Natalie Rushman. She's smart. She knows better than to pull on a character I'll recognize as fake. After that neither one of us seems to know what to do or say to each other, so I simply turn around to leave and let her get back to hitting things or jumping around or whatever it is that she does.

"I'm not playing you. I really am grateful." She softly calls after me when I'm already halfway out the door. Her tone carries an undertone of something like regret and I turn around to see her still just standing there alone in the middle of the empty gym. Her voice echoed a bit off the walls and I'm suddenly left feeling like a bitch, though I can't even place why exactly.

I leave without responding, but I do begin to wonder what, if anything, was underneath all that acting. It was after that that I started noticing her on a more human level from day to day and realized that the impression I had might have been only partially correct.

She does play people.

She plays them well and almost constantly.

It took me months of intense observation before I could even begin to tell when she slips in and out of characters. She uses them to get her way in different situations with different people, from everything ranging from Hill when she came to pick up mission report and Natasha wanted more time to finish them to when we all gathered for movie night and she didn't want to watch what the group decided on. Once I even saw her play Steve for a fool right out of the bacon he had just finished cooking.

But there are exceptions. If Steve asks her a question she always gives him a real answer, however clipped it might be...just in a way that is really toned down. If Tony stares at her too long she always shoots him the same murderous warning glare, much to my gratitude.

I also noticed that, aside from sparring and acting in one of her characters, she never, ever allows anyone to physically touch her except for Clint Barton.

Tony thought they were sleeping together. He's probably right about that, but I don't think its as dirty as Tony assumes. Natasha isn't truly a dirty person. She's a manipulative liar. She's a master actress. But when she isn't playing a character she's actually very reserved and solitary. In any case she isn't the robot I imagined she might be and I get the weird feeling that the real Natasha is anything but the overly self confident character she likes to play.

When she's just being herself it's usually post mission, covered in ugly little cuts and bruises, with a book printed in what I think might be Russian. She finds some lonely part of the tower to herself, or she curls herself up tucked into Clint's side on our occasional movie nights, or she's in her room alone. She never initiates conversations as herself with anyone. She almost never actually talks to Clint at all except for through their crazy telepathic _we can have a whole conversation in front of everyone without saying anything _language. I don't even begin to try to understand how that works.

Three months after the gym incident I finally decide to try to talk to her again.

"Can I help you?" She asks, sitting up straighter as I approach and giving my presence her full attention. She's sitting in the built in deep window seat on the sixty-fifth floor that rarely is ever used wearing skinny jeans and a tank top. I can tell that she's pulling on a vague Natalie character, though it's only half done really as the outfit and messy hair doesn't match.

I just smile softly at her. "No, I'd rather speak to Natasha if it's alright."

The shock on her face is quickly replaced by a chuckle and I sit down in the window seat next to her as she quickly produces a flask of what I can only assume is liquor out of nowhere. "Natasha generally doesn't do the talking." It's crazy how much she can change her on voice on a simple whim.

She takes a long pull from the flask before holding it out to offer some to me silently.

I shake my head 'no' gently as she slouches back against the wall again, Natalie Rushman effectively removed with a shrug. It is fascinating to watch, but still deeply disturbing.

"I imagine not." I say, adjusting my pencil skirt until its just right and then crossing my legs. I wouldn't normally sit on something like this, the padding is annoyingly lumpy, but I want to try and make this work. "Why would she when it's so much easier to get what you want by being someone else?"

"You're right not to trust me. I assume you want me to leave but don't want the others to know that you asked, correct?" Her face is neutral. Its an artificial expression. I'm beginning to get a little frustrated that she can't just relax enough to quit acting even after she knows that I've caught her anyways.

I take in a deep breath and try my best to understand the reasons behind the way she's acting. The obvious voice in my head keeps reminding me that she's a spy. But no one becomes like this on their own for no reason, do they?

"I actually like having another woman in the tower, I'm just confused as to why that one woman is about fifteen other women."

By this point her face has become drawn up into (what I think is) genuine confusion. But then I doubt anyone has ever called her out on this like I am. "Who do you want me to be?" She asks carefully, no doubt trying to read from me the answer silently before I even respond.

"There is a real you in there." I state. I'm sure about this. I've seen it as she shifts in and out of other personalities.

She nods. "Clint's usually the only person who can tell when I do that. What gave me away?"

"I've been babysitting Tony Stark for over a decade. I run a multi-billion dollar company. I don't fall for a trick twice. If I did I wouldn't be here."

This time its her that just looks disturbed and then a little lost. "I've been trained to do that ever since I can remember. I can't really be around people and not."

I try to absorb this and not judge her. "So, you've been a spy your whole life then?" I ask, trying my best to understand the younger woman sitting with me. I need to understand her motives.

"Yeah." If I weren't so practiced in piecing together when she's putting on a mask I would assume that there's something really interesting she's looking at outside the window. I'm fairly sure that the reality of it is that there isn't. I'm also pretty sure I've hit a sore subject for her. I try again.

"I just want to know the person I'm living with. I'm not out to get you. I have a high tolerance with difficult people. I'm dating Tony Stark for God's sake, I can deal with personality complexes."

Natasha finally turns back from whatever she was pretending to stare at and giggles a little, a true smile across her lips. "Alright. You got a pretty good point there."

I nod, standing back up now that (I think) I've gotten through to her. There's a stack of paperwork a foot high sitting on my desk and at this rate I doubt I'll be finished short of midnight.

"Thanks for the home." She says again, watching me from her place slouched over with her legs curled up in front of her. Now that she isn't acting she looks younger. Its as if the characters she puts on adds a false mass to her...like a puffer fish. To see her deflated from that is to see her as small and very, almost heartbreakingly, lost.

"Thanks for keeping Tony and I alive." I'm referring to the expo incident several years ago. I never did say thank you to her before for helping Tony stay alive while he found a palladium replacement and breaking into Hammer Industries. Things would have gone very badly without her there, I realize, though I was too consumed with the fact that she had lied to me to care at the time.

We've been tentative friends ever since that or, if not quite friends, at least not enemies. I don't question her motives anymore when she kicks the shit out of someone and she doesn't try to play me for a sucker that I know of.

Overall she isn't here much anyways, usually off doing God knows what for S.H.I.E.L.D., but when she is and when there isn't anyone else around except for me or me and Clint, she sits and reads her Russian novels. She eats her imported morozhenoe that I keep stocked and hidden in the back of the freezer for her and sometimes she sneaks into my office and finishes chunks of my paperwork for me whenever she knows I won't be there to catch her. She might just be doing it to steal company secrets for all I know, but I don't think that's the case. Usually it happens on days when I'm particularly exhausted and it's probably obvious that I need a break.

She also doesn't try to hide that it's her, instead just going about it like she did when she was working for me as Natalie. She doesn't turn off any cameras in the office to monitor what she does and she always leaves an empty pint of her morozhenoe in my office's waste basket, like a calling card. It's bought me a lot of sleep on days when I really, really needed it.

I think it's her way of trying to be my friend.

Sitting here now at the team meeting I actually miss her.

Ever since Clint brought her in from wherever she was (eastern Europe I think?) Tony won't let me near her. I haven't argued. A violent memory lapse for a woman I know could kill me in less than a second isn't something I'm dumb enough to risk and, unlike the others, I have no way to protect myself if it happened. But I think Tony's being an ass for not having her come to the meeting with everyone else. There's no way anything would happen to me even if she did lapse with a super soldier, a hulk, and a thunder-god in the room.

'Where's Clint and Natasha?" Bruce asks Tony, who was playing with the engagement ring on my finger, unable to actually just sit still to save his life. It's a beautiful ring, with a huge 20 carat clear rectangular diamond set on a platinum band and surrounded by rows and rows of other smaller diamonds. I am a little afraid that I may never be able to go anywhere with it without a set of body guards though. Tony never does anything without taking it to extremes.

"Natasha took him back to their room. He was a little tipsy." Steve supplies, his tone letting on exactly what he thought about it.

"With that crazy Russian lunatic as a wife who can blame him?" Tony spits out. I roll my eyes, why Tony had to play so many tricks on Steve I'll never know. He's had the poor man believing the assassins are married now for days.

"This ale is good my friends!" Thor cheers, holding up his empty glass with a smile. I get up to refill his glass before he forgets not to smash it on the ground. He's never done that here, but I've heard stories from the astrophysicist.

"She's not crazy." Bruce growls quietly but firmly from his place as I pour the thunder god another glass. I didn't realize that Bruce was even friends with Natasha. It's interesting that he's getting offended for her.

It's also enough to provoke Tony, who happens to be in one of his argumentative moods.

"Umm...you mean the girl that hacked into my system, tried to kill me with my own suit, attacked Steve because she was cranky? That ex-soviet widow? Yeah, I think I can do a night without that drama." Tony snarks back. I haven't seen him this mad at someone in a while. She really hit a nerve with messing with his suits. Tony hates to feel like he doesn't have the control. I love Tony, but he's too used to being the big guy with all the power to do whatever he wants. Nobody's perfect, I guess.

"Stop! She couldn't help that. She wasn't on her meds." The anger in Bruce's eye is starting to make me mildly nervous.

"And why was that again? Oh yeah, because she strapped down Captain America to her bed like they were in the middle of some bad bondage porno and walked out without them!"

"Wouldn't have happened if you hadn't ditched her first." Steve reminds him curtly from his seat, looking none too happy about Tony's attitude.

"I'm sorry, are you actually defending her right now?" Tony shoots back.

"Wait a minute! You ditched her? What do you mean you ditched her? Were you supposed to be watching her when you proposed?" I don't put it past him, but the shock in my voice is evident. Of all the selfish-

"She gave me the idea and I needed to go out and get the ring and do stuff. Okay? And she attacked me with a rubrics cube." Tony drones.

"So _she_ gave you the idea!" I scream as Tony stands up to face me fully.

"It doesn't matter who gave me the idea to propose I still did the proposing!"

"You two need to calm down." Thor reminds, still in his place and glancing back and forth between us and Bruce, though he doesn't look happy himself.

"You're right, you're right. I'm sorry about this Bruce." I say, pinching the bridge of my nose and trying not to explode at Tony anymore.

"I'm not." Tony just _has_ to insist. "She can't be babysat for the rest of our lives. What's going to happen when she gets past us? What's going to happen when she goes bat shit crazy on some innocent bystander or on Pepper?"

"She isn't crazy! She can't help it!" Bruce finally booms, rising from his seat and taking several breaths to try and calm himself before something bad happens. Everyone freezes for a long moment while he fights it.

"What has her getting so violent when she lapses anyway...or is that just what she's really like?" Tony still demands, though in a much quieter voice than before.

"She's probably afraid." Steve offers. He's getting really annoyed at Tony too. That makes three of us. Thor's still calmly drinking his ale and listening, probably lost to why they're arguing.

"And what the hell makes Miss I'm only a cripple when I'm not trying to kill everyone in the room so fucking scared?" Tony booms again. I swear sometimes I think he's trying to get Bruce to Hulk out just for the hell of it. If he succeeds I swear I'm going to kill him.

"Because she was raped!" Steve practically yells out of nowhere, surprisingly exploding at Tony himself before Bruce even has a chance.

For the next several minutes you could have heard a pin drop in the room. My eyes go wide and jaw drops a little. She was _what?_

I glance at Tony, who is frozen in place, apparently stunned as well.

Steve just leans face forward over slightly in his seat before adding "I didn't want to tell anyone that. It's personal." I know he feels terrible about it already.

"What villainous monster has done this? We must avenge her virtue immediately!" Thor finally booms, demand and outrage straining even the god's words as he moves as if to go after who ever it was right this moment.

"Virtue? You do understand what her job is, right?" I'm beginning to consider how far back in line I'm going to be in my wait to slap Tony. I know it's just a defense mechanism. He has to be sarcastic about everything, but this isn't something that can ever be funny.

"No, no. I've already killed them." Steve waves off, completely ignoring Tony's remark and addressing mostly Thor now "I killed them back in Estonia when I went to clean up the mission."

I just stand there. I don't know what to think. The men all look like they want to go attack the men's corpses and bring them back from the dead just to murder them again. I just want to go console Natasha. The imagine of her petite little frame looking up at me from the window seat with her book flashes through my head and I just can't stand the thought of her getting hurt like that. She's been living in a tower full of men. Of course she's scared. _God_. "What do you mean them?" I insist, praying that Steve just misspoke.

"There were two that both..." He looks down at his lap, all the blood effectively drained from his face.

_Oh God_

"They were Russian. They knew her somehow. I've been talking to Fury about it. I think their real mission was the Widow. When I got there and questioned them about the intel she was sent for they laughed." Finally he looks back up, indignation written across his face and rage burning in his eyes "they asked me how their itsy bitsy little spider was now."

The mental image that Steve's description brings makes me feel physically sick and I have to fight the urge to throw up then and there. Looking at Steve, I'm quite sure that he already did, probably as soon as he realized what the bastards had done. If Tony says one more word- but no, he's just standing there shocked and boiling like everyone.

"JARVIS?" Tony calls.

"Yes sir?"

"Where is the Widow?"

"In her apartment sir. She's reading a novel." JARVIS answers helpfully.

"And Hawkeye?"

"With Ms. Romanoff sir; I believe that he is trying to persuade her to eat a meal using blackmail." Tony cringes a little at that, though I'm not sure why exactly out of everything that has just happened.

"I see. Thank you JARVIS."

"My pleasure, sir."

No one has it really in them to talk or celebrate the engagement after that. Thor quickly leaves for his room to call and check on Jane, his protective instincts kicking in at the thought of what had happened to Natasha going on on the same planet as his girlfriend. Steve retreats to his room like a puppy with its tail between its legs. Honestly I'm not sure if its because of what happened or because he felt bad for finally telling everyone about it. Bruce mutters something about needing to get back to the lab and working on running more tests.

Meanwhile Tony and I head back to our bedroom where I proceed to break down and cry.

He walks up and hugs me, holding on tightly. He smells like engine oil and cologne and its comforting. "I'm sorry Pepper. I'm sorry. I'm an ass, alright? We're going to fix it?"

This time I really do hit him. It's on the shoulder and I don't think it actually hurt, which only serves to make me angrier. I wish Natasha was here to break his nose all over again. "You can't fix everything Tony! Unless you can rewind time!"

"I won't be able to do that for at least another two weeks." He jests, trying and failing to lighten the mood, before he abruptly jerks his head up and lets go of me. "They shouldn't have been able to do that." His voice sounds confused. I don't have to wonder what he means. I've seen her training and sparring. Captain America couldn't even land a proper hit on her. Tony couldn't restrain her in his suit. How is it possible that someone even managed to carry out the deed? They couldn't have been just two more bad guys. She's too slippery and skilled not to get out of that.

"I need to know exactly what happened in Estonia."


	12. 2 Tony

Pepper looks at me in horror. "You can't ask Steve about that! You saw him in there. He can't handle it."

But I shake my head at her "JARVIS?"

"Yes sir"

"Remember what we were working on before things went to shit on the helicarrier?"

There's only a momentary pause before the AI gets it. "Breaking into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files now, sir."

"We don't need everything." I instruct; I don't want this to take all night. I just want to get to the bottom of this shitty mess. "Just give me all the files they have on Romanoff and missions she's been sent on."

"Data transfer will be completed in eight minutes sir."

I sit on the bed to wait as my smile grows. I know Pepper doesn't think it's a good idea. Pepper never thinks anything I do is a good idea. But she's upset and Natasha is one of my people, even if she did just seriously tick me off. Plus, I can't take seeing Pepper cry and right now Pepper is crying because of the nutso Russian.

The question is who these guys were to be able to hold Spidey down long enough to even try to do that. They can't have been mainstream thugs. I've fought her. Red specializes in getting herself into and out of tight situations. I heard stories of her actually setting herself up to get caught on purpose so that they could think they were torturing her. Those stories usually end up with a string of dead men and a Russian spy with a memory full of intel ready to barf back up to Fury. She doesn't need protection. She's not like Pepper.

3...

2...

"Tony, please, she's already had her privacy invaded enough-"

"Data transfer complete."

I begin playing with my holograms, pulling up what I feel like and skimming around through her file. To be honest I'm a little stoked to have an excuse to do a little digging into _Ms. Rushman'_s file anyway. At least I am until some of the pictures that I threw up into a 3-D hologram probably shouldn't have been put into a 3-D hologram.

Pepper's eyes look like they may fall out of her head. Admittedly, it's probably not the best random picture from her file to throw up like that, being a picture documenting the scars on her inner thighs upon her entering S.H.I.E.L.D. It's just big and up there and really, really disturbing and as much as I always fantasized about being between Natasha's inner thighs, this isn't the way I wanted it to happen. Not that I would do that now anyway, since I'm with Pepper and all. The angle isn't even the most messed up thing. It doesn't show anything except thigh, but the picture is still really hard to look at since the skin is all gross and covered in old cigar burns. Is that why she wears that catsuit? I start re-thinking about all the ways the suit hugs her. It advertises every curve she's got, but it does also happen to cover all of her actual skin.

_Huh._

Is all her skin gross and messed up like that? Her arms and face and legs aren't. I've seen all that. They must have kept it to the places most people won't see.

I glance over to Pepper's beautiful unblemished paleness and begin thinking twice about which of them is really more attractive. Then my eyes travel to her face to see her horrified expression and I realize that I should take the hologram down. Now.

"The medical note on it says they're burns received as Red Room punishment. Apparently her second husband had a toddler that she refused to kill after she finished its father. " Pepper reads right before I remove it and bring up another that looks like it's going to be less disturbing.

This one is of a little redheaded girl that I think can safely be assumed to be Natasha. She looks to be about four years old and is dressed up in a pink ballerina uniform and tutu. Wow, these people are thorough. I'm going to change it to the next picture when I feel Pepper's hand on my forearm.

"Natasha..." She whispers as she inspects the photo closely "what did they do to her?"

It takes me a moment to realize what she's talking about. The little girl in the photo is happy looking in a way that drastically differs from our adult super spy. She's smiling differently and her eyes are different even if they are the same shape and color. There is something there that is gone now.

I pull down the cutesy picture and pull up the important stuff. Her file is huge. It's going to take hours to go through. I sigh. There's going to need to be a lot of coffee involved here.

Four and a half hours in and I think I have a pretty good idea of what happened. Natasha's parents were killed when she was a kid in some sort of fire. She was sold into the Red Room program and raised there, learning how to kill anything that moves in five hundred creative ways. The interviews and interrogation notes from when she was inducted into S.H.I.E.L.D. indicate that she was taught to be a child spy and seductress beginning at age six. Her first kill was at age nine. Her first three marriages were all at age sixteen. She was trained in interrogation and torture tactics so she wouldn't give any information by having practice in being tortured and interrogated. She was repeatedly brainwashed in between missions so that she could not comprehend the true nature of what went on around her. She was put through over a dozen operations due to different injuries and made sterile after she was found to be pregnant at fourteen.

She was also given some sort of Steve style serum to make her faster and improve her reaction time and endurance. That does explain a lot, but it's not what I'm interested in finding.

The Red Room handlers she had are dead. Everyone from the former Russian organization is dead. Black Widow and Hawkeye took down the entire organization towards the end of their first year as partners to prove her loyalty to S.H.I.E.L.D. It was a spectacularly executed mission took out nearly everyone. The thirty odd members left , simply due to being absent from the building that day were picked off one by one. Ten of them were assassinated by Natasha herself over the next six months or so under the direct order of Fury. Eighteen of the rest were all out murdered by Clint. Not assassinated; he had no orders or permission from anyone to hunt them down and kill them. Murdered. I'm actually living with a murderer. Great.

There is only a simple list mentioned in the file:

Boris Galiaskarov Occupation: Red Room operative. Confirmed dead: February 22, 2009 Cause of death: Stabbing Special Notes: Head and hands severed Disciplinary Action Issued: 1 month probation.

Vlad Dernov Occupation: Red Room Handleler Confirmed dead: April 9, 2009 Cause of Death: Drowning Special Notes: none Disciplinary Action Issued: 1 week confined to quarters.

Anton Yerofeyey Occupation: Red Room Trainer Confirmed Dead: April 15th, 2009 Cause of Death: Burned to death Special Notes: Victim was dowsed with gasoline and ignited while alive and conscious Disciplinary Action Issued: Demotion from level 8 security clearance to level 7

The list covered all eighteen men. Judging by the disciplinary actions taken, Fury must not have minded much. According to the file, Clint Barton went A.W.O.L. four separate times to go after them illegally. There must be some bigger story there too because none of them were killed with a simple arrow or bullet. Three of them had been almost unidentifiable after he had finished with them and he barely got a slap to the wrist for it. Jesus.

Maybe I should stop picking on him with nicknames? Seriously, I thought he was one of the less dangerous guys living here. Or maybe he is except for when it comes to his Spider. The rest of his file is spotless.

Meanwhile Pepper keeps asking me "how is this girl alive?" as she looks at the pictures through her fingers only to immediately turn away from half of them. Most are extremely unpleasant.

"Resilient, I guess." I shrug. I'm used to the idea that Natasha is practically invincible...at least until lately. Whatever horrible things that are probably going to give Pepper nightmares about tonight don't interest me. Shit happens to people. Whatever. She's obviously moved on, so it's fine. What interests me is how the hell a couple of second rate run of the mill bad guys managed to bring her down and then hold her down and assault her and why they let her go afterwards.

The official file from the Estonia mission isn't much help either. She was sent there to gather intel about a few remaining Hydra members hiding out. The intel was complete crap. Nothing they told her going in was right.

"It was a set up." I state to Pepper upon realizing the magnitude of what we'd just stumbled onto. "This was an inside job."

Pepper freezes and stares at me. "You have to fix this, Tony" she falters, her face both terrified and enraged.

I take in and let out a breath as I wrap an arm around her shoulder and try to act less like my normal self and more like the supportive fiancee she undoubtably needs right now and reply determinedly "I'll fix it Pep. I'll fix it."

"JARVIS?"

"Yes sir?"

"Is Legolas available to come up here?"

"He is currently occupied."

"Occupied? What's he doing?" I want him to get his ass up here and help me figure this out. He knows everything there is to know about Spidey's career at S.H.I.E.L.D. He's got the bet shot at figuring out who's behind this.

"He's in the bathtub unconscious, sir. Miss Romanoff has attacked him with his toothbrush."

"What? Oh shit!" I swing my legs down from the california king bed to the floor and take off sprinting towards the elevator. I barely have time to yell back "lock yourself in Pepper!" as I run, even though I know it won't do more than slow the Russian psycho a few seconds.

I call into the speaker coms I have set up to operate wirelessly from my watch to the specific rooms in the tower that I need. "Bruce, Steve, Thor I need you to meet me at Barton's apartment now! The Widow's lose again!" My suit flies in piece by piece and attaches to the appropriate places on my body as I run.

By the time I make it to Katniss's apartment door to try to save his ass if he isn't already dead, Captain Spangles is already there along with Bruce.

"JARVIS I need eyes on what's happening in there." I'm not going in blind. She could be anywhere. She could be waiting on someone to open the door. Hell, she could be crawling around on the ceiling like the spider she is for all I know. She's creepy like that.

"I'm sorry sir. I seem to have been programmed to be unable to record my visual feed within Mr. Barton's apartments."

I pound my hand to the wall. "What about audio?"

"Playing live audio now."

It starts just as Thor makes it to the scene. We all listen in to a very alive and conscious sounding archer raising his voice sternly at someone, presumably Miss deadly cripple. "-even if I never got to physically touch you once ever again!"

I turn to glance at Steve who's standing on the other side of the door frame opposite of me and beginning to blush as he listens carefully to the audio.

"What if I don't know how to do that?" The voice barely even sounds like Natasha. It's scared and tired and begging and all things that Natasha's generally calm neutral voice is not.

"Then I'll love you anyway." Robin Hood's voice replies firmly, definetly a man laying down the law and telling his woman how something is going to be. I'm officially in shock now. They seriously act nothing like they do in public if this is how they are behind closed doors. So he actually is the one wearing the pants in that relationship, huh? Well, that is unexpected. I listen in waiting to hear more, but there isn't anything until Steve clears his throat.

"I think it's a false alarm, man of Iron." Thor suggests as if he thought no one else realized that yet.

"Yeah, I think we got that buddy." I fume. I want to hear what the hell is going on in there. Are they getting it on? Is he giving her some sort of sexy punishment for whatever she did?

"Then they deserve their privacy." Steve insists firmly, standing there red faced with his shield lowered. I just roll my eyes at him. No fun. No one in this tower is any fun. The rest of the group disperses quietly while I hang around for another few minutes. When I'm sure that they're all gone and out of ear shot I have JARVIS turn the audio feed back on, just for a moment, just to confirm what I've been insisting to everyone from day one: that those two go at it like bunnies together.

For a few more minutes it's still all quiet on the front. I'm beginning to even start wondering if they're onto me and have done something to JARVIS when I'm finally rewarded with my confirmation.

The Black Widow is moaning. Loudly.

A lot.

Then I hear Cupid ask her in an out of breath tone if she's okay. _ Out of breath, hmm. I bet I know why that is.._.

"Clint…Cl-Clinnnnt! Clint! Oh, God! Clint!" Natasha's out of breath voice gasps and moans and even screams. I smirk, shaking my head at my super secret spy roommates that can't keep a secret to save their lives. Just partners my ass. I shut off the audio feed and head off to find the rest of the team again. We need to come up with a plan without Clint's help for now.

He's _occupied._


	13. 2 Pepper

If anyone ever told me that I would be spending a Saturday night babysitting an ex-soviet spy on the 90th story of my superhero fiancee's tower growing up I would have assumed they were crazy. She's wearing the bracelet that Bruce constructed for her. It has to be pretty uncomfortable, with all it little micro needles poking into her skin, but it keeps a steady dose of her anti-psychotics in her system so there's no chance she'll accidentally murder me in the time all the guys are away. They all left on a lead Tony and Steve came up with together about why Natasha was targeted in Estonia and I'm pretty sure that they aren't even on this continent by now, so who knows how long they'll be?

I could tell Clint didn't want to leave. I don't think he would have if it hadn't been to find the people behind all this. Tony assured me that they would be back as soon as they could. Bruce spent over an hour explaining all the different effects that the medications she's on can have, what can and can't be taken together, what needs to be given to her with food or on an empty stomach, and what to watch out for. None of that conversation mattered though because Clint still felt the need to have it with me all over again before writing down about three pages worth of notes for what to do in case each thing that could happen did happen. Quite frankly I felt like a teenage babysitter being given instructions from overly protective parents. It didn't take a genius to know how degraded Natasha must be feeling through all of this. Of course, they were smart enough not to give any of those directions to me in front of her. No, the big strong superheroes were way too afraid of the pretty red head to do that.

Instead, Clint simply kissed her goodbye (much to Tony's amusement and teasing) and assured her that he would bring back anyone responsible they found alive for her to murder herself. The way that they show each other affection kind of scares me sometimes; the way that he said it made it sound like he was a parent promising to buy a new trinket for a her during a business trip. It was even more creepy watching her face light up in utter excitement at the promise. Seriously, I need to find her some better hobbies than whatever it is that she's looking forward to doing to those unfortunate criminals.

Now its just the two of us in the tower other than Happy, my bodyguard, who was probably watching his soap operas somewhere. For the most part she's been perfectly normal too, which makes acting as her combination nurse and babysitter all the more awkward for me. I gave JARVIS all the times Clint had written down as reminders before they even left, while Clint stared at me and repeated himself again. Up until about an hour ago she was up and moving around as if nothing was wrong. Then she went to go take a shower and I guess all the standing was a little too much.

JARVIS informs me that she has fallen probably needs assistance. It's pretty awkward. I've seen Natasha hurt before. I've also seen how she reacts to other people trying to help her when she's hurt before. If it's Clint she tolerates it, but cusses him out in Russian the entire time he's stitching or setting or wrapping whatever it is up. If it's anyone else they generally end up needing a trip to the medical department themselves before they even start. I don't particularly want see what it is that the angry (and probably embarrassed) assassin might do to me if I go in to help her, especially in the shower.

What am I supposed to do? I can't just leave her. I suck in a breath and knock on the door to her and Clint's private apartment area. No answer. _Lovely_.

"JARVIS? Can you override the door's lock please?" As co-owner of the building I have control over all lockable doors in within the tower. I've just never used that control to break into another person's private apartment before.

"Certainly, Miss Potts, it would be my pleasure." The door clicks open and I go in, hesitantly. The apartment itself looks normal, if maybe a little bit messy. There's a couch and coffee table in the front sitting area and I know from the building's layout that the bedroom is directly behind it with the only bathroom accessed through the bedroom. I walk into the bedroom to see Natasha sitting on the edge of the bed, sort of dressed. She has an oversized t-shirt on at least. She also has a very nasty looking bruise forming on the side of her knee and the back of her arm. If I had to guess she is probably hiding worse under the giant t-shirt, but I don't dare ask or comment on it.

I cringe a little involuntarily. The bruises remind me of all the other pictures of various scars located on various body parts of hers that I never should have seen or looked at. It was the photos in her file that upset me most out of everything. I wish I'd just left the room or made Tony take them all down.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had taken several to document her condition at the time she entered the organization. Unsurprisingly she looked terrible. Still beautiful on an obvious level, of course, but she was almost anorexic looking and the pictures taken of different close up locations on her skin were really disgusting. She was flawless on her arms and legs and had nothing but scars on the places no one could see. Her inner thighs were covered in burn marks, a note on the photo only describing them as "Red Room punishment for incomplete mission". Upon careful cross referencing I discovered that the incomplete mission had been her second marriage. Her "husband" owned a pharmaceutical company that experimented with neurotoxins. She killed him and signed over all control of his company to the Red Room, but he had a two year old boy from a previous marriage she had refused to use the neurotoxins on to take out.

Her punishment, according to the interviews taken while she was attached to a lie detector, was her handlers having a "party" with her, witnessed directly by the child. This was followed by the child being shot in the head in front of her. It was after that that I stopped reading any notes on the past injuries she had sustained. I know reading about it is nothing compared to living it, but there is only so much I can take if I ever want to still be able to look at her again without a breakdown.

Thankfully, not everything I found was horrific; some of it was simple ballet photos of her as a child and then as a teenager, posing as a student in the Russian ballet. She looks happy enough in those, though that could just be fake. She was certainly an adorable little girl with her wild Merida type of red hair and big leaf green eyes. Then there were the pictures of her after joining S.H.I.E.L.D., most of them under different covers to supply a catalogue of her characters for future missions. Those pictures were of Natalie the secretary, Nora the housewife, Nadine the yoga instructor, Nellie the dancer...there were twenty in all.

All the Nora pictures also included Clint as Kevin or Josh or Frank, usually standing together and waving as if in a post card, but sometimes eating at a restaurant or even doing average things like fishing. Those were my favorite pictures of her. In those pictures she looks happy in a way that doesn't look fake. According to the files, S.H.I.E.L.D. has never assigned her to play any undercover role that paired her with anyone else.

"I'm not dead, Pepper. JARVIS is just being ridiculous because Clint re-programed him to tell you every little thing before he left." She snaps me back into reality and turns to face me before muttering "поверх защитной осел."

I hesitate for a moment. I have no idea what she even said on the end of that. Should I go? Should I just leave her alone? It's probably what she wants. Of course, it's the opposite of what both Bruce and Clint told me to do, which was to keep an eye on her every second. How exactly am I to do that though? Natasha's an adult woman. She has a right to her privacy.

"Seriously, Pepper, I'm fine." She must see the debate in my mind, her ability to read people is far and beyond what I am capable of.

"You know that the boys will all have my head if they review the video surveillance later and I just let you stay of your own, right?" I ask, hoping that she will see that I don't have a lot of choice here.

She takes in a big breath and sighs. "Yeah, yeah. I guess that would be something he'd do. He thinks I'm made of glass since all this bullshit." Her eyes look up at me and I try to see whether she's just being herself or if she's playing me. I have no idea.

"I don't think you're made of glass." I reply truthfully as I walk forward and sit down beside her in a gesture that I hope comes across as friendly just as Natasha surges forward to stumble back into the bathroom as quickly as her haggard body allows. Then I have no choice but to sit here and listen to my charge get sick and throw up what sounded like all the contents of her stomach and then some. The sound of the sink running follows and I lean into the door just a little to see her holding herself up against the bathroom counter and brushing her teeth with a look of exhaustion settled over her features.

I definitely can't leave now. "You're supposed to be staying up on me and Tony's floor." I remind her. "Clint put all your stuff up there." Except her toothbrush, apparently. Maybe they just keep an extra.

She glares at me incredulously as she puts the toothbrush away. "I don't need a babysitter. Thanks."

"Oh come on. It might be fun to have a girl's night." I say, smiling my way straight through the lie. I know it's probably hopeless to try to fool her, but the truth is that I'm worried about her being alone.

She narrows her eyes at me. "You don't have to do that. I can hack into the system later and edit out anything bad that happens."

This causes my eyes to widen at her a little. She can do what? Is any of of security safe from her tampering? She must see my alarm because she rushes to correct it.

"Don't worry I've never done that to your office security tapes."

"I know you don't." I state, sounding much more confident than I really feel, but I need to try and convince her to drop the act and just trust me if this is going to work while the team is away. "You do that because you're a good friend and right now I'm trying to be a good friend back, so please don't try to shut me out."

There's a long moment that she simply stares at me, as if trying to discern whether or not I'm putting up an act. Its actually a little comical; like I could really fool a super spy.

"I don't do friends."

I smile softly at her and step forward, placing a hand at her upper arm (the un-bruised one) to lead her out of the bathroom. "Well, I do and I say you're my friend."

She doesn't move an inch. "Why?" Her voice is icy and distrustful.

I take in a breath. If I can handle Tony and his extreme narcissism on a daily basis for the last half a decade I can handle Natasha Romanoff and her distrust for the world. "Because we're the only two women in this tower and we need to stand united against all the idiots we live with."

This earns me a chuckle...a genuine one, I think.

"Fine. I'll do what you want then. It is your tower, after all."

I shake my head at her. "This isn't my tower. It's my home. It's your home too and I'm glad you live here too. I was actually really starting to miss you before Bruce came up with that bracelet thing." She grins and braces herself to the doorframe, trying to make it look casual, but even to me its obvious that she's doing it to keep from falling.

I take in a breath and decide to take the chance and go all in with this. If I'm telling the most distrustful person I know that I'm going to be her friend, then I have to be her friend, whether she likes it or not. As my hand hooks around her back to help support her weight I half expect it to be severed off. Instead I just get a shocked looking master spy that obviously isn't sure what she's supposed to do.

"Come on. Let's get back upstairs before Happy comes looking and sees you in that and has a heart attack." He probably would if he saw her in this state on undress. She stares at me like I'm insane, but she walks wherever I lead. She doesn't need a whole lot of help either, which is good because I would feel terrible if she did and I couldn't keep her up. It feels more like she is just dizzy or something and needs a little correcting at which way everything is. The elevator isn't far and it leads straight into my larger master apartments that take up the entire floor. We make it there just fine, if a little awkwardly. Still, she's much lighter to help around than Tony when he's drunk.

I lead her to the couch in the living room and deposit her there before heading over to the guest bedroom where she's supposed to be staying. Clint had packed her a bag with all the stuff she'd need and brought it up earlier and it's still sitting on the bed. I unzip the top and begin searching for some pajama pants. I don't really care if she's only wearing a t-shirt or not, but Happy could come up to here to check on us at anytime and I'm not sure he wouldn't go into cardiac arrest if he saw this.

Lucky for me Clint was smart enough to put a pair of dark blue pajama shorts right on top. I grab them along with her hair brush and walk back to the living room to find her still on the couch, her head leaning back against the top cushions and her eyes closed. Is she asleep? Oh God, is she dead? I hurry over to her and reach to feel for a pulse. Her hand snaps up and catches mine like a snake striking its prey. She didn't even open her eyes!

"I brought you some shorts." I comment softly, feeling a little intimidated. I wish she would put them on. Now that I'm standing leaned over her like this I can't help but notice some of the burn scars on her upper thighs that were mentioned in her file. They're older and more faded now than they were in the photo, but still painful looking and I grimace even though I don't mean to.

It's like a bad horror movie. I can't stand to look, but I can't make myself look away. I really, really don't want the Black Widow to catch me staring at her upper thighs.

_God_.

She's looking at me, a studious expression covering her face that quickly changes to intrigue. "Yeah. Sure." She reaches up to where I'm still holding the shorts in the hand she didn't have in a vice grip on via my wrist and takes them.

I visibly relax at the gesture. Thank God, I really don't want her to give Happy a heart attack. He couldn't handle seeing this. I'm a straight woman and I can barely handle it. She's the ultimate fear of every other woman on the planet. I have a personal trainer and go to yoga classes three to four times a week and when she first infiltrated the company as Natalie I still didn't eat anything but celery and low fat yogurt for days. No one can compete with her. It was ridiculous how relieved I felt after the battle of New York and when she made it clear that she had no interest in Tony. I think I might owe Clint Barton a personal debt of gratitude for taking her off the market.

Finally, her fingers let go of their hold over my wrist and I sit down on the couch cushion next to her.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." She purrs from her place beside me as she pulls up the shorts over her legs, one of her hands using my shoulder for support as she does so. I don't know why, but suddenly her cold hand feels oh so wrong touching me at all.

Huh?

I turn to see her staring at me with a quirked eyebrow. What is she...oh God. Oh dear God. She thinks I was checking her out. If she doesn't murder me in the next few seconds I may just die of sheer embarrassment. "Oh, no. No, no. I'm not a lesbian. I mean, don't get me wrong you're gorgeous. Obviously. But I wasn't-"

Natasha's face slides back into what I think is really her and she starts laughing at me, as if she thinks all this is hilarious. _Did she just do that on purpose_? Oh, she's _good_.

"It's fine, Pepper. I know you weren't."

I shake my head and try to calm down my nerves. "You are scary sometimes. Just don't ever do that to Happy, okay? That poor man couldn't take it."

She smiles the kind of smile I'm not used to seeing on her as she nods her head. It's not calculating. It's not intimidating or sultry. It's just...oh my God, I think its a real smile! Her eyes are lit up and the emerald green shines a little brighter and I find myself smiling with her before I even realize that I'm doing it.

"Seriously, how do you do that?" I ask and almost immediately regret it. I know how she does it. She was made to.

Instantly all traces of her carefree smile is gone and she looks away into the distance past me to the window behind. It's pitch dark and there's nothing there to look at. "Lying isn't a problem. It's the truth that's hard." She's being honest with me for a moment again and I just can't help but feel like I should be comforting her somehow. She seems so small.

I end up just doing the first thing that comes to mind and pick up her hair brush, moving to sit on the other side of her body to her back. The fact that she's perplexed at my actions is obvious and almost certainly real, but I ignore her and simply begin brushing through her long wet red hair anyway. My mother used to do this for me whenever I got sick and it always made me feel better. Maybe it'll do the same for her. She has beautiful, silky long hair, even if it is the color of blood.

"Pepper?" Her voice is small in a way that I don't think is done on purpose. But I can't be sure of course.

I still the brush for a moment halfway down the length of her hair. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for the home."

I smile, bringing the brush through the bottom of her locks slowly. "Thank you for sticking around. It wouldn't be the same around here without you and Clint. I'd have to go back to keeping Tony in line by myself." I say, only half joking. She really did put a little much needed fear into him occasionally when he needed it.

"Oh the horror." She chuckles from in front of me.

I nod. "Yes. Plus without you and Clint for Tony to pick at Bruce and Steve wouldn't have a chance." I sigh from my stop behind her thinking about poor Steve and Tony's insistences of them being married. At least it is better than him going around telling everyone Natasha's a dominatrix and Clint's her submissive like he was for a few days when Clint requested the restraints.

"He's wrong you know." Her tone is quiet, but serious and I have no clue what she could mean. She knows no one but Steve really thinks they're married.

"About what?"

"Me and Clint. We aren't...or...we weren't..."

I almost drop the brush. "What? No way. There is no way you guys aren't-"

She turns to give me a snug glance. "Nope." She really does love to mess with people.

I would be floored at this if I weren't absolutely certain she is isn't playing me. "Not even your acting abilities can convince me of that whooper Natasha."

Then she turns all the way around for a moment and looks me straight in the eye, shaking her head. "He's crazy. He keeps saying he whats us to get married but he's never..."

Realization finally dawns on me that she's serious. At first I'm honestly shocked, but then once I think about it, it does make sense. Clint loves her. That much has always been obvious to everyone right from the beginning. He isn't in it for the sex. Maybe he's afraid he'll hurt her after everything she's been through. "He loves you." I state plainly.

"Like I said, he's crazy." She jokes, even though I think she might really think that. That can't be right though. She can't have that low of an opinion of herself. She's the ass kicking beauty queen that all men dream of and she one of the smartest people I know. Tony is a genius and she even outsmarted him once.

"Do you want him to?" I ask, unsure of whether this crosses the line of being too personal. Natasha isn't one to generally be shy about her body, but her personal life and past isn't something that she ever speaks about.

She shrugs.

Can someone like her even enjoy having sex? Or is it like work for her? Or is she really, really traumatized?

"You know, maybe he doesn't because he loves you." I suggest gently, still brushing through her hair even though its completely devoid of any tangles at this point. Clint's been her partner for almost a decade; he's probably seen her play characters like Natalie Rushman for dozens of unsuspecting marks. What affect would that have on him?

"I don't understand." She admits with a slight air of annoyance leaking into her voice.

What should I say? Common sense is telling me to simply spell it out for her, but my self preservation instincts are beginning to demand attention too. Its none of my business...except she's my friend and if I going to be friends with Natasha Romanoff I'm going to have to tell her what I think she needs to hear from time to time rather than always just whatever the easiest thing is.

"You were raped." I finally manage, cringing as the words leave my lips. She doesn't even flinch. She just stays where she is with her back turned letting me brush through her immaculate hair.

"Not by Clint." She emphasizes, readjusting herself on the couch cushions to get more comfortable.

"I was taught early to use my body as a weapon; as a way to get information or whatever it is the Red Room wanted. I wasn't brought up with all these romantic ideals of how its supposed to be like normal people. You know the first time it happened I didn't even get upset?"

I'm stunned, not only at the fact that she's telling me all this, but also at the frank wording. Her voice is totally casual. It's like she's talking about the weather. She goes on without waiting for an answer, which is fine with me because I have no clue what the appropriate response would be for an admission like that.

"It was just like every other type of training to me. It's a simple biological act, no more disturbing to me that practicing holding my breath underwater for long periods of time. Was it pleasant? No. But just like the water torture training it was necessary. It came in handy. Those handlers in Estonia couldn't really get to me because I never viewed getting fucked as anymore of a big deal than getting held underwater. I just hold my breath, make my mind go somewhere else, and the next thing I know it's over."

I have no idea what to say to that. To say I think it's disturbing would be an understatement.

_How does she...how does she even...God._

I feel my skin heat at all the silent fury running through my system and then the blood drain completely from my face right after. So this is the real Natasha.

I don't know why I'm surprised really, but I still am. Tony and I spent all night reading her file. I know all of her documented history now. She had a kill list of over three hundred people that she's assassinated since she's been with the organization; terrorists, slave traders, drug traffickers...no one that didn't probably deserve it. But that list wasn't the problem. Nothing she's done since she's been a member of S.H.I.E.L.D. has been really any more immoral than her stint as Natalie. It's what went on before that. Before she defected from the Red Room and left Russia did done some horrific things. She's killed children. She's set fire to hospitals. She's married and then murdered several different men, starting at age sixteen and stretching until just before she left, six in total. Five of them are dead now. The last one was a dirty politician S.H.I.E.L.D. was kind enough to annul for her after Clint caught her in the middle of it... only to send her uncover with Clint as a married couple and forge marriage papers for them. He's still alive, obviously, but its no wonder how she got her name.

Still, reading about it and hearing her tell me how she dealt with living through it are two different things.

"That sounds more like torture than training." I spill out without really thinking. No one should have to go through that, let alone grow up with it all the time.

"It's fine. It's just that Clint's so overprotective of me from everyone, even himself, because of it."

"Well no wonder he is! What do you expect? I mean, he's probably terrified." I let out in a rush, knowing that I've thrown all caution to the wind by now, but I don't care. If she really doesn't do friends then that means I'm the only one she's got and someone has to talk to her about this!

"I don't have any diseases or anything." She assures me cooly, completely missing my point.

"I don't think that's what's scaring him." The timer goes off again for another round of her meds and I get up automatically to go find them. I notice her expression is still just as calm and collected as ever as I leave for the pill organizer Bruce divided all of her meds into. Clint had already cut the ones that needed it and counted them out into each little divider earlier. The care that the man put into caring for her is really all I need to know what is going on here.

I walk back in and fix the pills onto a saucer before filling a glass with water.

She runs a hand down her other arm and holds it to her. I think it must have gone limp and lost some of its feeling again. Bruce told me that would probably happen off and on. I don't like seeing her like this at all.

She takes her pills, swallowing them all at once even though there's like eight and I don't know how she can do that without chocking. I try to focus on what I should say to her. I get the feeling the these girl to girl moments for her are very rare. I don't want to give her a chance to close herself off again before I figure out how to help her somehow. "You've kissed Clint." I hazard, as her big green eyes look at me expectantly. I know they do at least that, I mean, he just kissed her goodbye earlier right in front of everyone.

She snorts at this and blinks, nodding and letting out a single chuckle at the same time.

I ask her what I know my therapist would ask. "Well how does that make you feel? Do you like it when he's kissing you?"

She looks at me as if seriously questioning my level of intelligence and rolls her eyes.

"Okay, okay. Well what about the other guys you've kissed before?"

"I haven't except for on the job and that's...different." She furrows her eyebrows and looks frustrated as she tries and mostly fails to explain.

_No one? Really?_ _She's never even dated or anything on her own free will? _"So is Clint just really good at it?" I ask, wondering how adjusted she honestly is with all this. I know a few top-notch therapists that…no, she'd probably shut down if I suggest that. She's a spy. Spies don't share their inner feelings with hired strangers. I guess I'll have to do.

She shrugs again. "It's kind of hard to compare. I mentally check out and set myself on autopilot. Except for Clint, I don't want to miss it when its Clint."

"So you're frustrated because he doesn't realize that difference and you think he's afraid of being like all of...them."

She nods just barely. Just enough for me to notice. "He doesn't get that he can't hurt me like that. It's impossible." She pauses a long moment and then looks back at me again, this time with some actual embarrassment in her eyes. "Sorry I told you all that. I know its pretty disgusting."

I smile at her as best I can and sit back down, just as closely to her as before so she doesn't read any negative messages. "It is disgusting, but it's not your fault and I'm glad you told me. I think you should tell Clint too. About it being different."

She stares down at her lap and then nods just slightly, letting out a silent breath.

"It'll all work out." I promise as Happy makes his rounds through this floor and enters the room. Natasha shoots me a mischievous smile, jokingly threatening to shimmy out of her shorts and I laugh at the silent joke.

I wasn't lying. It will work out.

It will because I know the team has her back. Bruce dropped everything and flew in from across the world for her. Steve actually killed people for her. Tony made sure she could pay all of her medical bills for the next twenty life times (though I don't think she knows it yet). Thor put off being with Jane so he could fight for her. Clint loves her and will literally do probably anything for her. And I'm her friend whose going to make it my personal business to see that she never feels like she doesn't have a home again. I smile as I think of our strange little dysfunctional family and realize that no one can mess with any of us without dealing with all of us. Natasha Romanoff is a lucky woman, despite everything that's happened to her. She's lucky because she's loved so much, whether she can comprehend it fully or not. And we're all lucky to have her.


	14. 2 Thor

It takes quite a while to become caught up with what is going on late in the night when I arrive at the tower. While Bruce explains the circumstances Lady Natasha has found herself in to me, Warrior Captain Steve and the un-metaled Man of Iron have another discussion across the room.

It is the next day that we must leave for the mission the two of them planned based on whatever knowledge they must have had.

I have used the cell phone that Bruce always helps me to work to call my Lady Jane the morning after my arrival, a few hours before we go to the flying machine of Tony Stark. I do not know when I may go to her as I had promised. It grieves me greatly to put off her affections, but I cannot leave my friends until this foul situation is rectified. She is generous over the phone, where she has not the presence to give me a slap of the face in greeting as she has in person, but I do not mind. Though her voice is not that of happiness, she forgives me quickly upon my explanation of the situation.

I worry for Lady Natasha, of course, and Lady Pepper, who has been left to nurse the troubled warrior woman, but I am also concerned for Bruce. He is tired from working all the night previous in the basement lab, making lady Natasha a strange bracelet device. I am satisfied to see him finally sleeping while we travel the long hours to our destination.

It is not in the land of Estonia where our noble Captain leads as I had expected, but to a frozen land of ice and snow. They tell me it is Lady Natasha's homeland, but I cannot picture her at home here. As we approach the hidden entrance, I can't help but muse how comfortable my brother might feel in a place such as this instead. In many ways it doesn't look dissimilar to Yodenheim. The door is sealed, of course, but the puny midgardian metal is nothing to me and I simply rip it aside for me and the Archer Warrior to enter. This is a personal mission for us all, but I know it is even more so for him. Lady Natasha is to him as my Lady Jane is to me and the knowledge of that only further fuels my rage at all the measly guards that dare to try to stand in our way. I cut them down as I would annoying weeds overgrown on my path, without reverence or eye contact. They are below me.

I am not used to fighting this manner of filth.

I have fought much and many worthy adversaries have perished at my hand. It is a good death to die in battle. An honorable death. I look forward to fighting many of them again in the distant future when I myself arrive at Valhalla. These men, if they should even be called that, do not deserve such an honor. They are degenerate. Swine.

Natasha is a fine warrior and esteemed friend and it is with utmost revulsion that I end those involved in her violation, one by one, like a boot to a loathsome insect.

Truly, I detest that I must touch them at all with Mjolnir. I will wash it thoroughly after this battle with the antibacterial cleanser that flows forth from the little container Darcy taught me to work.

I do not know if I can bare the thought of scum such as those I fight against now residing in the same home planet as my love. I can barely think of much more as I slay my way through the underground building in the wasteland we have come to, the filth dying by the droves and falling at my feet. Unlike my other battles I do not take care to step around them and often trample their scattered bodies with my boot. They are worthy not of my care. The Great Archer Warrior is at my side as we come to the place inside where the Man of Iron said he would meet us at and he acts as though in agreement with my judgment. The Hulk has smashed his way through the other route of the compound and is awaiting us as the Man of Iron holds a white jacketed man in the air by his throat, demanding him to give answers to what he asks. I heard not his questions, but I do here the cur's response.

"What is it that you care!" The man is yelling at his metal interrogator. The Man of Iron does nothing but raise him up higher.

"She isn't anything to you! She killed my brother! My nephew! She is nothing but your word for a female dog!" His native tongue is not that of my teammates and although I understand him perfectly, I can see he is struggling to speak in the American tongue. "A-a bitch, is it?" At this, the metal man simply drops him, letting him fall the ten feet or so to the ground. Like the weak mortal he is, he makes a satisfying crunching noise at the contact with the stone of the floor.

I continue to watch as Tony flies down to hover over him, hauling him up again as the man begins to squeal.

"Yeah, you know what? She is a bitch. But she's family. She's ours. And you picked the wrong widow to mess with." I notice then that the sarcastic tone that usually flows forth from the Man of Iron's mouth is less as he handles the swine. This fight must be as personal to him as I feel it is to me.

He drops the man from all the way up near the ceiling again to the floor and then lands himself, locking eyes for a moment with the archer warrior. He then kicks the fiend, like the black and white ball Dr. Selvig likes to watch on his rectangular wall box, over near me directly in front of the Archer Warrior's feet.

I immediately understand the meaning of what he is doing. The Man of Iron has presented the Archer Warrior with the fowl creature so that he may avenge his great lady's honor personally. For a long moment my friend does nothing except for stare at the vile wretch. Then I notice he's waiting. Patiently. Until, finally, the cur stirs and curls up into himself in certain agony before dragging himself up to his knees to confront his former victim's lover, face to face. Clint crouches down to his level, never even touching him, but smiling manically as he asks in a deadly calm tone "did you touch my Natasha?"

The man shakes his head furiously. "I would not fuck that whore! I simply arranged for the drug to be administered by some old friends that I knew would."

I am a little surprised that he supplies this information, even if it is as a final act of contempt for my friend. I wait for the archer to finish him, but he does not. He still just smiles at the wretch.

"I tell you what," finally, he does grab the man up as the Hulk comes forward to Clint "I'll let you explain it to her yourself."

With one quick nod from Clint the Hulk takes hold of the man, grabbing him roughly from the leg that had made the crunching sound earlier and swinging him over his shoulder by it roughly as if the man were nothing but a rag doll. I smile as I listen to the squealing of the swine.

Clint takes the lead towards the nearest exit and I follow close behind him, the only one of the team to hear him as he mumbles "Maybe I'll stop and buy some new knives on the way home. I'm going to let Nat have her fun with this one."

It is later that evening with the villain properly contained that I finally find time to ask him "does Lady Natasha enjoy collecting knives?"

Clint raises his eyebrows at me from his seat the chair across the table. We were on the Man of Metal's flying machine on our way back to New York. All of us sitting around at the short table near the couch and bar. The flight time to return would be almost ten hours, so everyone was sitting around relaxed. "Natasha likes to use them for intimidation mostly, but she's very skilled at causing maximum pain with minimal real damage."

I notice this invokes a cringe from both the metal man and the warrior captain. "So the plan is to let her slice him open until he tells us what we want?" The warrior captain asks, looking none too pleased at the archer warrior in front of me.

The archer simply grins and shrugs. "It's best to let her handle it. Nobody can pull information out of people like Tasha can."

"That is true." I speak up to back him "she was able to trick my brother."

"Yeah but that didn't involve her slicing him open." The blonde man argues.

The archer just chuckles as he pours himself another drink. "Ya'll don't know Tasha like I do. She's actually calmed down a lot. It's her business anyway. If she wants to fillet the bastard I'll throw him on the grill for her after."

"Well, as tasty as that sounds, if this is mellow Black Widow, what is the other version?" The doctor prompts from the corner seat of the couch.

I lean forward to fill my own glass after the warrior archer passes me the bottle of spirits and wait eagerly for the answer.

"When I first brought Tasha back to S.H.I.E.L.D. she scared the other agents so much that there were rumors going around that she'd kill anyone who touched her. The junior agents especially; they would literally dive out of the way before risking bumping elbows with her going down the hall. Hell, after she put six of the best agents around in the medical department Fury banned her from sparring in the regular training gym."

"I'm surprised it wasn't more than that." Captain replies. Nobody seems surprised. We've all seen her fight. For a mortal, it is especially impressive.

The archer smiles to himself. "All six were on her first day in the training room. She wasn't even there for an hour before Fury shut the place down. After that she was only allowed to spar with me."

"Why is that?"

"I'm the one who brought her in. Plus, she never wanted to hurt me deep down. I can't say the same for everyone else. She ain't much of a people person." He leans back in his seat now in a relaxed gesture and rests the back of his head.

By now the Man of Iron is on his third drink and dances his way over to the Archer, scooting in next to him with his glass raised and throwing an arm around his teammate's shoulders. "You know what? We should all have a toast to this guy!" Metal Man raises his glass higher as everyone else chuckles at him. I raise mine as well and then the others follow suit "to the man who brought the scariest woman I've ever met over to our side!"

Everyone drinks up to this and then the Warrior Captain smiles at the Archer. "I think it's sweet how you guys are. It's nice to know that whether the dames change their names or not, or wear rings or not, or live together with their husbands or not, the institution of marriage is still around in this time."

Everyone exchanges glances at this and I'm just about to ask what he means when the Iron Man shoves a glass up to my face and shoots me a strange look. I think he means for me to drink rather than talk, so I do. The spirits here are good. Its much better than the ale the Archer gave me on the roof in those little cans.

"Well," Clint turns to Tony and then Bruce and winks at angles in which the Warrior Captain cannot see him "it took a lot of pleading...and blood shed, but I knew she'd come around."

"How long has it been now?" Bruce asks, barely stifling a laugh.

"Oh, well, it was during the uh...the first mission Fury sent us on. We were posing as a married couple in Scotland for several weeks...and um...well, we umm...it was her first assignment. She had only been at S.H.I.E.L.D. for seven months and they had just cleared her to work. When she came into Fury's office in her new tactical suit and saw me there she said

'I thought I made it clear I work solo'

and Fury was sitting there at his desk and he stared at her and she threw a knife at his head!"

At this everyone laughs. I can imagine it happening that way; the one eyed warrior chief making a narrow escape, Lady Natasha hissing at him.

The Archer continues "the shot almost took off his ear and the next thing I know Fury's got a gun trained at her head and I'm trying to talk him out of it. And I tell Fury that she's just nervous and I move in front of her to try to get him to calm down. The whole time she's twisting the back of my arm to try to get me to move so she can kill Fury and I just keep talking and try not to let it show on my face."

"And his arm is still attached!" Tony chimes in, clapping our story teller on the shoulder. Clint grins and the Warrior Captain waits eagerly for him to continue. He's obviously very interested to hear the story.

"Yeah, she ended up dislocating the shoulder though. By the time Fury was done lecturing me I felt like my arm was on fire."

"How did you propose?" The Captain Warrior asks. I'm still unclear about what he means.

"Does proposal hold a diff-" Tony shoves another drink in my face. My, my. The customs here certainly can be strange sometimes. I drink it down and nod to him in thanks, as Jane taught me is proper. The archer ignores my attempt at a question.

"Umm...well I told her that I loved her and she cussed me out in Russian and I...umm...and she was making toast and then a bunch of assassins broke in and attacked and she killed three of them with the frying pan." Clint Barton looks down at his lap, as if he's unsure of how to proceed with his tale.

"-And then ya'll went to the preacher and you said 'I promise to love you, scary Russian woman' and she said 'I guess I'll tolerate you, my Robin Hood' and ya'll lived happily ever after with your super awesome Avenger friends!" Metal man adds in an an artificially silly voice.

I laugh and take another drink that Tony poured for me as he added in the last bit. This is shaping up to be a fine flight.


	15. Happy

It's a dangerous job, guarding the poor, defenseless women of the tower against the cold, hard dangers of the world. There's no shortage of nefarious enemies lurking in the shadows, ready to strike with most of the superheroes gone.

All but me.

I'm up for the job because that's just what I do. Guys like me have to be constantly on guard, always on duty. Tony and Clint came to the right man for the job. Happy Hogan delivers. My gun is drawn as I walk the mean hallways of the tower, ready to take down any threat using whatever amount of force is necessary.

I have to be careful, after all, the Widow is Down. No one knows why exactly or if there could be another attack while all the soldiers are away. Pepper is an obvious target too, being Tony Stark's fiancee and all. She's been kidnapped before by bad guys, thankfully never suffering the consequences the Black Widow has recently faced.

It's late that morning, after my fifth security check of the premises, that I decide to take five for a coffee break. Natasha is there, sitting at the table in the kitchen of Pepper and Tony's floor with her shiny red hair down loose wearing her usual skinny jeans and a dark tank top. There's a big plate of yummy candy in front of her.

Ooh, I want one.

"What are we enjoying here?" I ask, walking up beside the redhead as I notice Pepper in the next room at the sink, pouring water into a clear glass. I haven't seen candy like that before, it's so colorful. Mike and Ike's? Good n' Plenty? Maybe some new fruity thing...

Natasha shrugs noncommittally, looking as though she's seen better days. Her eyes are tired and she doesn't look like she's gotten much sleep.

"You know, as this tower's official body guard, it is my duty to screen for all types of threats. That candy could have been tampered with, but don't worry. You're safe as long as I'm around! I'll test it for you."

At my insistence, Natasha quirks an eyebrow at me, as though amused at something. But then she promptly picks up a small pink candy and hands it to me. I pop it in my mouth. It's got kind of a strange bitter, chalky taste. Oh my god it is poisoned! It's poisoned candy! I'm going to die! I can feel my face heating up.

"Don't eat it!" I scream at her, panicked, as I try too late to spit it out. It's too late, it's in my system now. I'm going to die a martyr. "It's poison! We've been attacked! There is biological terror happening!"

Oh lord, I can see the light! There are little spots flying around everywhere. I'm going down, I'm going- Ouch I hit the floor! Oh the horror! In my final moments before blacking out I can hear the clicking of Pepper's high heels against the floor as she rushes over to me, her fallen valiant guard.

I can make out that she's crouching over me and her face looks horrified, as she tucks her long strawberry blonde hair out of her face to see me better from her angle above. "Happy! Oh my god! What happened?"

I'm well on my way out of consciousness, but I do hear Natasha mutter from her same place as before, lounging comfortably in her seat, "it was just half a dose of painkillers."

It takes a while to recover. I'm out for an unconfirmed amount of time and Pepper is fanning me when I finally wake up on the floor where I passed out. "Ugh...did I catch 'em? How many were there?"

Pepper smiles patiently at me. "Just one and no...I don't think anyone's catching that one." She answers softly with a hint of amusement in her voice.

I look over to see the assassin in question. She's just now swallowing the rest of the candy-er pills. All of them get tossed back in one gulp with just a sip of the water Pepper had brought over.

"You should be careful with those pink ones." I tell her seriously, "They're a doozy."

She completely ignores me and Pepper helps me back to my feet.

I think I might go take a nap now before continuing my rounds...

It's 0012:32 hundred when I poke my head into the gym so as to confirm visual contact with both girls. They are in there, safe for the moment. That's lucky. Half an hour ago I encountered a very hostile pigeon on level seventy eight's south facing balcony. There could have been some real danger there if they'd been up there alone.

It's okay though...threat neutralized.

Right now they both look happy and healthy enough (Pepper, at least) and doing yoga. Pepper is actually correcting Natasha's form on her backbendy thing that looks really painful...sheesh!

No, no actually she's just helping the redhead hold up. I smile. It's good to see the Black Widow playing so nice with the boss. Everyone likes Pepper, even Natalie- or, I mean, Natasha. I'm still getting those names mixed up. Eventually both girls collapse down onto the matt. I consider checking on them closer up just to make sure they didn't get hurt until I notice that neither are shaking with pain or tears, but with laughter.

The girls both sit on the matt for a moment, chuckling. "How do you do that thigh...scissor...thing?" Pepper asks her new little friend out of nowhere.

"Oh that?" The little redhead starts to chuckle again "It's really easy you just have to use your momentum to throw them off balance."

"Can you- oh, well, I guess you can't do that right now-"

"I can show you how to do it we just need a-" her eyes roam the room and then land on me "a dummy."

I can feel her zeroing in like a lioness who just found her prey and it doesn't take long for Pepper to follow her gaze and smile at me. As their smiles widen, I try to back up slowly to the door. Maybe if I don't make any sounds...

"Happy, could you come over here for a moment?" My boss asks sweetly. _Oh lord. This isn't going to go well for me. _

I point to myself and look around, hoping some other Happy might have appeared and that maybe she's talking to them...all I get is my boss smiling even wider at me and Natasha's big green eyes pulling me towards her like a fish on a hook.

"Okay, so this whole move is all about speed and taking the guy down by surprise. But I've already done this to Happy once before anyway so we're just going to break it down. Pepper you stand here" She takes Pepper gently by the shoulder and positions her close to the center of the matt "and Happy, you should stand here" her pale hand is cold as it snakes over my upper arm over my suit and yet I feel suddenly flush at the contact. She guides me to where she wants me, looking through those long thick lashes and I immediately miss the contact as soon as she takes her hand away. Only once she steps back a few feet do I notice I'm just in front of Pepper and remember what they're planning to do to me. I gulp.

"Okay" Pepper looks from me to Natasha, still grinning "now what?"

"You need to propel yourself to an upside down position; for now just pretend you're doing a cartwheel" once again the temptress instructor goes to Pepper and moves her gently over a few feet to one side of me, giving Pepper the room. "Once your legs are up, you have to stretch one behind your target's head and then swing yourself sideways and out away from his body to pull him down. Then roll back upwards until your feet are at the ground and stand back up. That should flip them onto their back. It's all one motion."

"Okay...so like-" In a flash of strawberry blonde, my boss attempts the move, getting halfway up to me only to fall back on her ass.

I let out a breath of relief, but Natasha cuts her eyes at me and it's scary and I immediately stop and find myself holding my breath because I know she can kill me with her pinkie if she wants to and I've seen her fight through a room of armed guards before. Natasha walks over to Pepper as she's getting up and helps her get into position again, this time staying close by in front of her.

"Try again" Pepper springs sideways once more, but this time Natasha catches her ankles once they're up and holds her like that for a second, stilling Pepper's movement.

"Okay, now I'm just going to take Happy" she reaches over to me and I suddenly feel myself getting yanked down by my tie until I'm bending far over "and your leg is going to wrap over behind him" I assume that Natasha is placing Pepper's leg over the back of my neck, I can feel it there out of nowhere "and then you need to spring up farther and lean to the side as you go" and then I'm on my back on the floor. It doesn't hurt, as I was already made to lean over and I was expecting it, but it's still scary to be used as a class dummy like this by a crazy ninja assassin.

"Good." Natasha says simply, her words clipped, professional, and to the point. Pepper stands up smiling widely at me as she offers me her hand. I take it and stand back up, relieved that it's over.

Until I hear the words "now do it on your own" come out of the ex-russian's lips and cringe all over again. Pepper positions herself in front of me on her own this time and tries again. This time I know she hooks her lower leg around my neck, because I feel it, but I don't fall down with her as my boss lands awkwardly on her side.

Pepper sits up and looks to Natasha for guidance to which Natasha replies in a neutral, almost bored tone "you have to propel yourself up higher. Your thighs should be around his neck as high up as they can go. Using your calfs isn't enough."

It takes my boss three more tries before she finally brings me down with her and even then it isn't nearly as powerful or quick as I remember it was when Natasha did it in the boxing ring the day I met her as "Miss Rushman." Between each try Natasha gives her more pointers and I can tell that they're working when, on the seventh try, I feel myself go down even despite bracing myself for it.

"I did it!" Pepper literally squeals as she scrambles to get back up. I'm still laying on the matt, flat on my back, trying to breathe. Everything hurts now.

I look up to see the pair of hypnotizing emerald green eyes again and they startle my breath into catching. She's bent over me, only a couple feet from my face, with an eyebrow quirked in dry, reserved amusement. I can only stare back at her for a long moment as one side of her mouth twitches up in the slightest hint of a grin. Those big full lips of hers look amazing. I'm mesmerized as they start to move while those big green eyes continue to watch me.

"Thank you...for your cooperation."

I feel my mouth go dry and my jaw go a little slack before the sound of Pepper's muffled giggling from off to the side snaps me out of it and I scramble my way back up, mentally reproaching myself for allowing myself to once again get caught in the Widow's web. As if getting pinned down by her in front of my bosses and then almost swerving off the road weren't lessons enough. This time she didn't even have to touch me_ or_ take any of her clothes off. Man, that woman!

I hear a timer go off from somewhere. Then JARVIS speaks up.

"Miss Romanoff, I have been instructed to inform you that, at this time, it has been scheduled for you to take a mid morning nap."

"Who programmed that in?" The anger in her voice is unmistakable and I find myself wishing I had just stayed down on the mat.

"Doctor Banner, miss."

Natasha rolls her eyes and mutters a string of russian words that I don't understand.

"If you aren't going to rest, maybe you could help me with my office work? I have some legal forms that I could really use some help with." Pepper suggests in that tone of voice she uses when she's trying to cajole Tony into doing something he doesn't want to do. I wince and prepare myself to die protecting my boss from the mad spy, but to my surprise nothing happens.

Natalie-no, Natasha doesn't lash out. She just shrugs and asks "will there be morozhenoe involved?" For Natasha, that's about as friendly as she ever gets.

Pepper smiles knowingly at her and I just feel confused. My boss may not be a superhero like the rest of them, but she does have a unique superpower of her own. She can take the most difficult people in the world to get along with and get them to do anything she wants. I don't know how she does it.

"Happy can get it for you from the communal freezer. I'll help you up."

It isn't until Pepper offers her help that I even notice how Natasha looks a little off her balance. I think about how it should be my job to help the woman up, but the look Pepper shoots me as soon as I begin to move my hand forward instantly causes me to pause.

"Thank you Happy." Pepper dismisses, waiting there with Natasha, one hand holding onto the shorter girl's upper shoulder to keep the spy balanced, as I leave. I don't know how my boss plans on getting her apparent new bestie all the way up to her office, but I do know better than to question her direct orders.

I go get the frozen...whatever the word is. The carton is buried in the back of the freezer underneath a bag of peas and has nothing but russian words printed all over it. Based on the fact that it's russian, I assume that's what she meant. I open up the lid and look at the contents inside. It looks like ice cream. I grab a couple spoons and two bowls and the carton and head up to the executive office. I'm there before the girls are, but Pepper comes in only a few moments later with Natasha in tow. The red head seems to be walking mostly on her own, but she's definitely using Pepper as balance, kind of like I've seen Tony do when he's drunk. It's a little funny, but also weird at the same time. It's weird because I've never seen the Black Widow touching anyone before except for when she's fighting and that shady archer man that I don't trust.

Pepper nods at me as she helps Natasha further into the office. It's a dismissal.

I go back to the security room to watch the grounds for any threats. When the mail man comes up a couple hours later I go to meet him at the gate. I always make sure to scan him before allowing him access to Tony and Pepper's private mailboxes.

"I.D. badge?" I question.

The mailman raises his eyebrows and looks at me from his place in his old mail truck. "I forgot it at home today, Mr. Hogan."

"No good." I tell him, shaking my head "No good. I have to see an I.D. badge."

"I've been your mailman for three years, sir. You know who I am without the badge." The annoyance is clear in his tone. He's trying to pull one over on me. Not this time, buster.

"We are on full lockdown at the moment, sir. Are you trying to enter the perimeter while refusing to identify yourself?"

I'm met with a tired blank stare from the older man. He had to be approaching 80. Or 100. "Sir, I'm just trying to deliver your mail."

About this time Pepper's voice comes out through the gate intercom. "Hello, Mr. Davis. Of course you can deliver the mail. Happy, would you please move over to give Mr. Davis access?"

"But Pepper! He could be a terrorist! He could be here to kidnap Natasha! He could be a spy sent by Loki or Hammer Industries!"

"I really just want to deliver the mail." The suspicious mailman insists.

"Let him in, Happy." Pepper orders, her voice soft but firm. I hang my head over.

"Fine! But I'm watching you pal!" I move over to allow him to drive his truck in and take two of my fingers up to my eyes and then point one of them back at him as I notice him look at me in his rearview, shaking his head.

As soon as the packages are in and the shady character leaves I retrieve the mail and walk to the security room. I scan all the boxes first for bombs. Clear there. Then I place then through the x-ray machine just in case there is something dangerous inside. Based on the scans they look to be filled with blue prints in one and metal parts for Tony to use in his tinkering in the other. I let the machine designed to sniff out any biological hazards- anthrax and the like, scan the paper envelopes. Everything is clear. I breathe a sigh of relief. No threats there today.

When I bring the mail up to the office Pepper shushes me from her place, typing at her desk, almost immediately before I can even tell her about the packages I've brought in. Standing silently, she points over to the white leather couch on the opposite wall of her desk and I turn to see Natasha Romanoff curled up there asleep.

She looks so cute!

Her legs are pulled up onto the couch underneath a thin throw blanket that I assume Pepper has placed over her up to her shoulders. Her head is settled halfway up one end of the back, face relaxed. One of her hands is still grasping a spoon that she must have been using to eat the mostly melted russian ice cream that sits on the floor in front of her next to a forgotten clip board and stack of papers.

How does that woman ever manage to make herself look so deadly? She looks like she couldn't hurt a fly right now. It's adorable, really.

But I still need to talk to Pepper about the serious security issues that presented with the mailman. She has to let me do my job if I'm going to keep her and the cute little redhead alive and safe until the other men return.

"I brought your packages." I whisper quietly, as Pepper steps away from her desk to come closer. I don't want to wake up the spy. I like her better like this.

"Thanks." She whispers back.

"That mailman could've been dangerous" I inform her, still whispering.

Pepper glances over to Natasha, still sleeping soundly on the couch. "It's okay, Happy." She assures, her voice just slightly quieter than before. She tiptoes over to the couch and picks up the still mostly full melted carton and hands it to me to take down.

I take the gooey carton, but shake my head at her. "You hired me to protect you. How am I supposed to do that if you'll just let anyone off the street in here? What would happen if he was a bad guy? What what happen if he busted in here to-"

There's something all over my suit...I look down. It's melted ice cream...but.

OH MY GOD THERE'S A KNIFE SKEWERING THE CARTON!

I let out a slightly unmanly scream and drop it. It splashes all over my shoes.

"Let them." The still asleep looking Black Widow murmurs with sleep in her voice. She hasn't moved an inch from her place curled up on the couch with her eyes still closed.

Where did that woman get a knife? Where- I pace around, trying to get my bearings. Pepper still stands in her same spot, looking back and forth from me to Natasha. She does look surprised, but not nearly as startled as me.

I swear these...these women! Forget the bad guys! They are going to kill me!

I look back up to Pepper, who simply tells me to take the rest of the day and go relax. With my heart pounding this hard, I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to do that again.


	16. 3 Natasha

I don't usually dream.

The Red Room doesn't like things like dreams. Things that are unpredictable. Things that can't be controlled by them. I don't know what they did to me exactly to remove the ability to.

The first dream I've ever had since I can remember was in a dumpy hotel room in Paris with my partner sleeping not two feet away. I couldn't remember what it was about, but I knew it happened. I knew it happened when I woke up and it knocked the breath out of me. Some things about people don't just change like that. A person can't go their whole life without dreams and then, at thirty years old, suddenly wake up from one in the middle of the night. I was naked when it happened. Naked and lying beside the only man who had ever turned me down in my life. Naked and lying beside the man who woke up with me out of reflex. Clint's as light of a sleeper as me and any other assassin. It's one of the many ways we learn to stay alive. But I knew he wasn't doing his job that night. He wasn't my partner. He was the man in the alleyway who defied every order that had ever been handed down to him from S.H.I.E.L.D. to bring me back alive.

And he held me afterwards. He held me like a damned toddler holds a teddy bear. There was nothing sexual about it. Clint could do that. Clint could pack up his emotions and stuff them away until he thought it was time to unpack them later. That's ok too. I've always known that somehow, for reasons I can't begin to grasp, the idiot loves me. I just put that knowledge in a box and kept it packed away like him.

Then he had to open his damned mouth and rip both of those boxes open. It's been days and I'm still trying to clean up the mess. Can it be possible to love someone when you don't even believe in the concept? Can it be possible for a simple archer to take a porcelain doll and make her feel?

Worst of all, can it really be possible that I've grown so soft and so dependent on my partner that I can't even get a full night's sleep without him holding me?

I look at the alarm clock on the nightstand next to me. It's 2:34 A.M. I'm in Pepper's guest room. Clint isn't here. He's out trying to be some idiot white knight and catch the bad guys that I'm too weak to deal with. This isn't how my life is supposed to be. I'm not some stupid damsel in distress and Clint isn't supposed to have to go out to fight my wars for me.

But it doesn't surprise me when he does. I've long since stopped bothering trying to come up with his reasons for insisting on having me around. Clint is, after all, an idiot. Clint loves me. Clint loves me like a child loves a stuffed teddy bear that they drag around everywhere with them...completely without any regard to practicality. He knows I've slept with more men than I'd ever care to try and count. Sex means almost nothing to me. He knows I can't love him back properly. He knows I can't give him a real life with family and kids. He knows that I can't even walk on my own half the time nowadays. I'm so impractical for him that it's all out comical.

But I'm a selfish creature and despite knowing that the only right thing to do would be to leave him and disappear, I can't seem to make myself. Every time I get close he does something stupid like get drunk on the rooftop with a demi-god, or come barging into the bathroom without my permission, or spend the better part of a night using his tongue to send me to nirvana.

That's a whole other thing that is bugging me. Where the hell does he come off doing that to me without even letting me take care of him once afterward? He's nothing like any of the unreasonable number of people that I've ever fucked before. Hell, he didn't even fuck me. He just...he just...

...he isn't here

I reach over again to the cold empty side of the california king sized bed.

Oh, hell. I'm never going to get any sleep.

I turn on my back, pulling my lonely arm back to my side, and try to will myself to sleep. My mind keeps going back to the same thing I'd dreamed about. The same thing that had caused me to reach over next to me looking for a man who isn't there.

His words from my dream keep echoing in my ear.

_"I'm here to offer you something better."_

They are the same ones he had spoken eight years ago.

I can still remember him saying that, sitting across the room from where I was tied up at the time. I was still wearing my dress, not that it would've gotten in his way, but I couldn't tell weather he'd had me or not. Three men in a night will do that to a girl. I was bleeding either way from that bastard politician earlier and I was sore already. Of course, at the time I couldn't care less. What I cared about was why I was tied up in a corner of a shitty hotel room by some guy I didn't recognize.

I schooled my features immediately, but it was too late. I knew it; he knew it. I focused on controlling my breathing and try to treat the situation just the same as all the reverse interrogations I had done before. Any minute he'd start with the questions and torture tactics. I smiled at him, making sure to bat my eyes a little and began to hope that he hadn't had me yet. It would be much easier to kill him and get out and on my way with him screwing me than with him over across the room.

"хей красивый" I start, trying to gauge where he's from. There's nothing on his person to give any hint.

He just knots his eyebrows at me. "I know you can speak english, Miss. Romanova."

I roll my eyes at him. _American. Great_. Even if I did get out of this the Red Room would kill me for sure now. I stare at him, waiting him out. He's a sniper, he'd have to be, to be able to shoot me like that at the angle he must have been hiding from. He's bound to be trained to have a decent amount of patience as well. For a moment we just stare at each other, both waiting for the other to crack. It's not a smart tactic for me in this situation, I quickly surmise, and switch to a different tactic.

"So what intel are you after?" I ask casually.

The rugged, blue eyed man looks confused at this. Okay, so it's personal then. Probably some vengeance deal. Great. If that's the case he's going to drag this out as long as possible. I just have to figure out who it was I killed so I can use that anger against them.

"I'm S.H.I.E.L.D." He states and I mentally begin a long string of curses. So it's not a vengeance case then. He's going to try to take me in alive to impress some higher ups probably. Shit.

"And that's supposed to mean something to me agent...?"

"Barton. Name's Clint Barton. And no, it's not. Other than the fact that they want you dead."

I don't even flinch at this. What else is new? Who doesn't want me dead?

His tone is even as he watches me, but his eyes are a raging storm. He wants something. This is more complicated than just a simply take out mission. Why would he even bring me in here? He had a shot. He took the shot. Why did he tranq me in the back of the neck if he could have shot me dead?

"I'm here to offer you something better."

I laugh at him, keeping my tone flirty just in case that's his angle. "Yes, you really know how to treat a girl." I look down at the ropes to drive home the point.

He shrugs off the comment. "I want you to come work with me at S.H.I.E.L.D. We can offer you protection from your current employers."

"Nobody can protect me from them!" I gasp, feeling my control loosen for a second before quickly reeling it back in. Who does this jerk think he is? Does he have any clue who he's dealing with?

"I can." He argues confidently. "You're very talented. You could be a great asset to us. It'd give you the chance to do some real good in the world. Plus, they treat their agents like human beings." He motions to me as my current condition were proof enough that the Red Room doesn't treat their agents humanely and I let out an angered breath.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. This is starting to get boring, Agent Barton. You were sent here to kill me, correct?"

He nods, still sitting in his place as calm and collected as ever.

"Then why don't you come over here and untie me so you can finish me off with some honor?" Americans like to fall for that kind of shit. _ Honor. _ Like there's any real meaning behind the word. If he's dumb enough to fall for it I'll have him dead in under ten seconds.

"I'm not going to fight you. I'm going to give you a choice. I meeting up with extraction in the morning. I read what we know about your organization and they don't strike me as the lenient type. I can let you go, which will certainly mean punishment for you since you've been out for four hours and haven't returned to your handler." I inwardly cringe at that. He's right, they would consider me rogue at this point. The punishment for that is much worse than a bullet. "Or, I can take you back with me as a new recruit and tell them you've turned over a new leaf."

"There's no way they're just going to let me in like that." I state, realizing that I'm likely dead either way at this point. It's a strangely comfortable notion. I've been tired for so long.

"They will if I vouch for you."

"And why would they listen to some lowly agent pleading for the life of a soviet spy?" This is a test. It has to be a test.

He smirks at this and pulls forward the compact bow that his body had previously kept hidden, letting me get a good look at the weapon that took me down. It looks incredibly impractical compared to my handguns. "Not all organizations are like yours. Some actually value human life. Plus, I'm one of their top agents." Okay, so maybe it's not a test. No self respecting Red Room operative would carry something as ridiculous as a bow or talk about human life like it means anything.

"It's your choice." He reminds me, shrugging as if he didn't care one way or another. It doesn't fool me for a minute. People don't kidnap their marks without a reason. But then, no matter what I do at this point I'm screwed. I decide to play along simply because its my best hope.

"Fine. I'll go with you then." I reply angrily, still making sure to maintain my seductress eyes as I pretend to try and stand in my restraints, falling over and looking up at him through my lashes. He doesn't seem gay to me. This should work.

"If I let you out of those ropes are you gonna try to kill me?" He asks, stern fatherly face worn well. Hmmm, maybe I should give him something to punish me for and see what he does with it.

"If I leave here I'm dead anyway." I reply genuinely. I need to let the idiot think he's won until we get out of the area. Right now I just want him to cut me loose.

The agent nods, and then gets up and moves forward to untie me. He crouches down behind me, maintaining sturdy control of a small handgun at his side all the while, just incase. I smirk. He's going to need a lot more than a stupid gun to save him from me later on. He's careful with the knife as he cuts the rope, never letting the metal touch my skin at all and never touching me himself.

I stand up and saunter over to the bathroom immediately. "You don't mind if I take a bath, do you? It's been a long night and I'm a very dirty girl right now." In other words, I feel disgusting and want to wash these men off me. Having their fluids and my blood running down my thighs isn't going to help my play on this guy and I need him to want me to get him to lower his guard.

He expression is less than impressed. "I've already made the decision not to kill you. Your decisions are yours, just don't expect me to fall for your little games. Those might work on your targets, but I know what you are."

The words cut deeper than I'd like to admit. What I am is a cold blooded murderer. What he was probably inferring that I am is a whore. It's not like I have any argument. I nod at him, opening and then closing the hotel bathroom door. I could escape from in here easily. It's nothing to cut through a ceiling and hoist myself up. But the Red Room handlers will be looking for me. If I leave I'm dead. There's nothing for me to do but stay and hope this idiot knows what he's doing. I clean up, opting for a long shower to remove all of the day's filth. It's nice to have the freedom to take a shower longer than five minutes.

I wrap myself up in a towel once the water's turned cold and make sure to arrange the dingy thing so that as much cleavage was showing as possible without being too obvious. Agent Idiot is sitting propped up in the room's only armchair, poised to watch the window. He doesn't look at me as I come back into the room, but tosses me a pistol and remains in his place.

It's loaded. I can tell that much from the weight. Idiot! I could shoot him right now. Straight through the brain. Walk out of here...except for the Red Room.

"Five outside." He states softly. "They don't know we're here...but we're stuck until they move on. I move to the window and lean to the side just enough to give me a quick look. Damn. He wasn't lying.

"Do you have a silencer?" I ask in a whisper.

He grins. "I'm always silent." He pulls up his bow from where it rested in his lap into position and sends five arrows out, one right after the other. Each silent. Each hitting their target for an instant kill. He's better than I thought.

"How many will there be?" He asks, reaching for another bow.

"Six."

He nods. "Cover me" he orders, as if we were old partners and had done this a hundred times. As if he trusted me. He scales down easily, in the kind of effortless movements that tell me that he's done this often and for a long time. I keep my gun poised, watching out for any figures I recognize in the darkness. There's nothing as my captor pulls his used arrows out of the first four bodies, but then I see him in the darkness. Lagounov. For a moment I debate about what to do. I could just ignore him and let Lagounov kill the American bastard. But then that would leave me alone with a missed deadline, four dead agents, and Lagounov on my hands to deal with and the Red Room would punish me severely for that.

I study the American man. He doesn't even look up. He isn't even trying to protect himself. He just threw himself out there like a worm on a hook. I cock the borrowed gun, poise it into perfect aim, and take the shot.

Lagounov falls to the ground dead. Agent Barton still doesn't bother to look up as he retrieves his last arrow. The sound of the gun firing didn't even earn me a flinch from the idiot. He just tossed the kidnapped spy from the opposite side a gun and expected me to shoot members of my own organization to keep him from getting killed. этот идиот!

He climbs back inside with a shit eating grin and I want to kill him myself for being so stupid. "Do you always test loyalty by using yourself as bait?" The words come out severely, but not as severely as I'd wanted. English is such a soft language.

"If that was a loyalty test you'd have failed." He chuckles, like this is all just a good time. "How long do we have before there's more?"

"That's it." I reply. I don't need back up. They were only here to watch me incase I tried to defect. I guess there weren't counting on an idiotic American all out kidnapping their best agent. He nods and then looks at me for the first real time since I came out of the bathroom, his eyes widening a bit and pupils growing darker. Yep, definitely not gay.

"Here." He's digging through his pack, pulling out a t-shirt from the bottom and tossing it to me. "This is the only clean one I've got left. Sorry."

It's a plain black t-shirt that's several sizes too big for me. I smile. I can work with this. Slowly, I tug the towel off and let it drop. Agent Idiot just looks away to the floor near his feet, not quite turning around, but not looking at my naked body either. _Huh._ I pull the t-shirt on quickly and walk over to him. His expression is one made up of embarrassment, concern, and shame. It's not something I've seen on any agent or handler before. These Americans must be a really different breed.

"I'm not holding you here against your will. I just needed you to hear me out earlier." He states as he dodges my touch to his shoulder. "You can leave any time if you want to. But I think you should stay."

"Hypothetically," I ask, too curious to hold back "what would happen if I left?"

"I'd tell them that I couldn't catch you. You're good at your job. It's believable. I'd get assigned to another case and you'd have a different S.H.I.E.L.D. agent after you next week."

I nod and sit down on the edge of the bed, like I'm getting more comfortable rather than positioning my escape. "If you're just going to let me go, what would make you think there's even a chance I'd go with you?"

"Well, I'd be there." He grins.

I grin back and shake my head at him. "Not good enough." I'm out the window in less than five seconds, loaded gun in hand. I wasn't expecting him to follow suit a few seconds later, his pack and arrows slung over his shoulder.

"Did I mention you'd get to stay in New York?"

By now I already had a good distance from him and had no intention of allowing him to catch up. His aim is perfect and I couldn't be sure when he might shoot me again and, if he did, whether it would be a real bullet this time. But that statement is so ludicrous that I just had to respond.

"What the fuck do I care about New York?" I turn and slow down to ask, just as I'm positive he was hoping I would.

He quickly takes the opportunity to catch up and grins at me again with that stupid, the-world-is-awesome grin that I couldn't stand. "The food, of course."

I glare at him and start back up walking again, a little faster this time, as he keeps running his big mouth. "You could use some meat on your bones. They've got everything there- cheeseburgers, pizza, sushi...you name it they got it."

I don't respond and keep my stare fixed straight ahead though I have no clue where I'm going. He's the only man I've ever met that's actually complained about me being skinny.

"I bet they don't feed you like that at the Red Room."

I halter to a stop and turn to face him, throwing a punch to his face out of nowhere and landing it across his cheek hard. And I keep walking, wondering if this guy is honestly mentally competent enough to work for a legitimate agency. Still, I didn't punch him as hard as I'm capable of. For all the shit he's just put me in the middle of, I should murder him. That's what is going to happen to me once the Red Room finds me...if I'm lucky.

"They don't make their agents sleep with marks!" He calls from where I left him, slightly out of breath, but his voice still filled with that annoying persistence.

"I've got a better idea! Why don't you just shoot me like you were supposed to?" I yell back as a dare at him. I'm sick of this. He's caught up to me again before I know it and places a careful hand at my elbow.

"You wanna die?" He asks, not quite as if it disturbed him, but as if it weren't an available option.

I stare at him as I begin to seriously consider it. I may have a strong self preservation instinct, but I don't have any particular reason to keep surviving. So far life hadn't been anything except for painful, lonely, and intense.

There's a long pause and then he turns to the nearest ledge off the concrete river barrier, hopping up and swinging his legs over to sit comfortably. "I wanted to die once" he admits quietly as I follow suit to sit with him against my better judgement. It's cold out here and my bare feet are beginning to go a little numb. Hanging them over the drop off in the wind isn't helping. "Coulson, he's my handler, he found me a few years ago when I wasn't much better off than you. Offered me a second chance. I just wanna offer you the same. 'Cause there is something better. I know you can't see it yet, but there is."

I don't move or give any outward body language cues to what I'm thinking. Is there anything better? Life had to be more than this. There had to be something I missed. Something that made not getting killed worth it at the end of every day. We sit there for a long time. Eventually, he removes his jacket and lays it across my bare thighs and legs like a blanket. I roll my eyes at the ridiculous gesture.

When I look down at the freezing river below us and wonder where it leads, I know I'm not ready to die. I want to know if he's telling the truth about there being something else out there. If there is anything better, I want to experience it before I take the one way trip to hell I know is coming for me. "What's a cheeseburger?"

He chuckles and we both know he's won.

Back in the present, I'm forced out of my thoughts by footsteps outside the guest bedroom I'm in. When the door opens slightly I assume it's Pepper at first. Last night she opened the door to check on me twice. Both times she walked up to my bed, looked at whether or not I was breathing, stuck her cold hand on my forehead to check for fever, and then left while I pretended to be asleep. She obviously has no idea how dangerous doing that to someone like me is. Tonight she's only come in once so far, so she's probably due for a second check in at any time. I focus on evening out my breathing so as to appear asleep and shut my eyes.

It's strange having so many people looking after me. Until Clint came along no one ever did anything half as benevolent. Naturally, I have to fight every instinct I have to avoid injuring them all for it.

It takes me precisely four seconds from the time I shut my eyes to know for certain fact that it isn't Pepper who's entering my room. I know my partner's footsteps; I could recognize the sound of them anywhere. Still, I keep my eyes shut and my breathing even, curious about what he'll do. I don't move, not even when I feel one knee settle on either side of my waist and warm fingers at my cheeks, gently caressing the skin there.

"Miss me?" He asks from above me, his voice husky and tired. I smile involuntarily, but wait another few seconds to open my eyes and look at him.

"No, I was thinking about cheeseburgers." I reply quietly, teasing him. Pepper is asleep in the other room right next to us, which means Tony is probably watching or listening in like the nosey asshole he is.

Clint grins, catching my reference immediately and leaning over further to kiss me.

I kiss him back for a moment, savoring his warm lips that taste like sweat and liquor and Clint, and then I break away as if I simply needed to breathe. I didn't have to yet. I lean up and forward to him, fanning my neck and glancing at the nail sized camera lens in the corner ceiling of the room. _Stark's watching us. _I tell him silently.

He responds in kind with a barely there nod, and then a raised right eyebrow. _Gotcha. It's okay with me if it is with you. _

I scratch my nose, grin at him, and then blink. _Wanna help me get this idiot? Cover me. _

Clint immediately obliges, spreading his larger muscular body over mine and then pulling the covers over both of us up to our shoulders.

I tug up the right corner of my lips just barely. _Make the move._

Clint smiles wider before leaning down to attack my neck with kisses. I reach up and go through the motions of making it look like I'm removing both our clothes, when in actuality I haven't taken off anything except Clint's shirt and the shoulder straps of my tank top. This should be good.

We roll around under the covers for a while and I use my acting skills I perfected a long time ago to make it seem to anyone watching from the angle of the camera that we're screwing, hard and without any reservations. Clint even adds to the act by making some sounds of his own.

"Holy shit Natasha!" Clint calls out, quietly enough so that the camera would be the only thing to pick it up, not anyone who is actually just trying to sleep in the next room. I'm glad; I don't want to terrify Pepper.

We keep up this charade for quite a while, both of us having a good time with it and laughing inwardly about how freaked out Tony would be if he's watching. We pretend like Clint is a sex god with the stamina of fifty men and that I know all sorts of tricks (which I do) that most people couldn't comprehend. If Stark is watching it's going to ruin his own sexual ego. There's never a peep from next door. But that doesn't mean anything with Stark. Finally, we fake finish and I pretend to just now notice the camera. Amateur. Nobody can hide cameras from me.

"Clint? Oh, my god, Clint...is that a camera?" I asked dramatically, as though I'm shocked and unnerved.

"What? No Nat. Tony Stark would never use a camera to spy on us!"

"You're right," I add, still making sure to speak up and add a shocked "that would be violating our privacy."

Clint leans down to kiss me as if in reassurance. "No one's that stupid, Tasha."

I fake relax in his arms and pretend to believe his fake reassurances, pouring vulnerability into my words to the point of sounding like a sad little girl. "Yeah, 'cause that would make me feel violated again."

Clint looks over at the camera as if to address it, his voice eerily calm, yet menacing. "That's right, and we all know what I'll do about that. That Russian scientist would suffer nothing in comparison to someone betraying me that I thought was my friend."

"Ooh, you brought me a Russian scientist?" I ask, genuinely excited at the prospect, but still adding some dramatic flair just in case.

"I even got you a new blade set to play with on him." He responds, acting so that he sounds like a sadist.

I clap my hands from in between our bodies in enthusiasm.

"You can have him tomorrow. Tonight I'm having you." Clint mumbles, less for the camera now than just for us. I lay my head back into the pillow beneath me and stare at him. It's dark in the room, but I can still just barely make out the greyish blue of his eyes. This time when he kisses me there is no acting. No pretend. Just us. If Tony was watching before he's definitely been scared away by now and there's always Pepper to help keep him in check.

I sigh into the kiss and reach up to his back and shoulders, holding onto him so that I can feel as much of his skin as possible.

"I love you." He mumbles against my lips, a quiet whisper in the night.

I smile and wind my legs around his waist, wishing that I really had completely undressed both of us earlier. I'm feeling pretty decent at the moment all things considered, despite the lack of sleep, and don't want to waste the opportunity.

"Я хочу тебя" _I want you._ I practically moan into his ear. His body goes rigid atop me.

"Вы не должны" _You don't have to. _He replies softly in russian, catching on to my extra precaution just in case Stark is still listening somehow, and looking worried about me again. I hate that look.

"Вы говорили, что вы хотели меня. Я не какой-то краснея девственница на первую брачную ночь. Я не сломается" _You said before that you wanted me. I'm not some blushing virgin on her wedding night. I won't break. _

_"Я хочу сделать это правильно" I want to do this right. "_Хоть раз в жизни, я хочу, чтобы это нечто совершенное. Не то время как ваш больной, и я потный и Тони играет радиолокатор." _For once in your life, I want this to be something perfect. Not while your sick and I'm sweaty and Tony is playing the peeping tom._

I shake my head at him. "Сентиментальный идиот" _Sentimental idiot. _He smirks at me and then kisses me again, turning us so that he's on his side facing me and we're curled up into each other.

"Я люблю получать спать с тобой, как это" _ I love getting to sleep with you this way. _He comments softly, holding onto me with my head tucked into his chest and his fingers tangled into the back of my hair.

"Мы всегда спал как это." _We've always slept like this_, I mumble into his chest, my lips ghosting over the skin there.

"Да, но теперь я знаю, если вы попытаетесь перерезать мне горло в середине ночи, это просто потому, что ты сумасшедший. Прежде, чем я никогда не знал, что если вы можете просто назло мне. _Yeah, but now I know if you try to slit my throat in the middle of the night it's just because you're crazy. Before I never knew if you might just to spite me._

I chuckle at him, curious. "Это то, что вы думали о том, когда я выполз в постели с вами на ночь?" _Is that what you thought about when I crawled in bed with you at night?_

"No." He replies in english, forgetting himself, and runs a calloused palm over the skin of my back under my tank top. I shiver at the contact. I missed this even if he was only gone a night and a half. "Я был в ужасе от завинчивания вещи" _I was terrified of screwing things up. "_Я хотел, чтобы вы есть второй шанс для лучше" _I wanted you to have a second chance for something better. _

I grimace. He did screw things up. The fact that I'm snuggled into his bare chest right now having such an intimate conversation with him is proof of that. That isn't supposed to happen. It's not supposed to be this natural feeling. He's asking me for things that aren't even in my personal dictionary and I feel like I've already been doing them forever. But that "something better" he's referring to, the thing he'd promised me on the night we met- I get that now.

"You are my something better." I mouth to him in english, shaky and in unfamiliar territory with voicing my feelings for him. I don't know whether he can hear me or not, my voice was almost nonexistent, but the way his hold tightens on me ever so slightly would suggest he did.


	17. 4 Clint

_Author's note- sorry if this is a little long and sappy. I promise next chapter will involve Natasha using her shiny new knives, but I wanted to get Clint's take on Natasha's end statement and explain a little more about why he's so insistent about their sleeping arrangements. _

"You are my something better." I barely hear her say into the skin of my chest. It's more than I ever imagined her admitting- to me or to herself. The fact that I know she thinks that now is enough to keep me chasing her for the rest of our lives.

I hold on to her just a little more; just as much as I think I can get away with without scaring her off. Natasha Romanoff has a strong tendency towards running away. Most people probably wouldn't believe me if I told them that. They'd say she's too brave. They'd say she's more liable to kill a guy than to run away from him. That's true if the guy is trying to kill her. She isn't the type to run for her life, with the Hulk being the only exception I know of.

Her feelings, however, are another matter entirely. Natasha Romanoff is a coward when it comes to dealing with her emotions. Most of the time she doesn't deal with them at all. It's a good thing in a way because I'm pretty sure she would have never made it to adulthood in the Red Room if she didn't have that defense mechanism. But when it comes to situations like this…well, I know better than to discount the very real possibility of her trying to run away from me.

For a long time neither of us says anything and I'm pretty sure she's fallen asleep nestled against my chest. Her warm breath is steady against my bare chest, but that doesn't guarantee anything with Natasha. Still, I gently caress my fingers through her hair against her scalp at the back of her head and otherwise keep my body as still as I can muster. I've been with a lot of women. I had a lot of girlfriends in my younger days. But this little redhead in my arms really takes the cake. Master seductress. Professional liar. Cold as a fish exterior. She walked out on me more times than I care to admit…both on and off missions in the first year. Once she nearly got me killed by abandoning me in the middle of a mission.

It was on our first mission together posing as a married couple and it gave me my first real insight into what the hell was going on with her. We were in a two bedroom house with no cameras set up and very small potential for anyone attacking or spying on us inside the house. It was our first night together there and I had just finished showering and getting ready for bed. She showed up right after I had gotten settled into the sheets looking like every man's fantasy in the same teeshirt I had given her before, back in Russia, and nothing else.

For a long moment she simply hovered just inside the doorframe with her best temptress pose…subtle, like she might be doing it on purpose, or might not be. She waited like that until I looked up at her and until my body automatically reacted under the sheets to my own embarrassment. When she looked to be satisfied that she had my full attention she sauntered forward, lifting up the sheet on the side of the bed that I was closer to (I thought I was sleeping alone, so I had been close to the middle), and crawled right into the bed with me.

"What are you doing?" I ask, wishing my voice had come out stronger than it had.

She moves her body towards me, every move an elegantly choreographed act designed to hypnotize me with need for her taunt little body.

"Going to bed with my husband." She teased, leaning down over me and taking my hand into hers. She swings one leg over my bare waist…I was naked as a jaybird because, again, I wasn't expecting anyone to do what she was. Then she runs one hand down my chest, slowly, nails raking the skin a bit as she traveled and used her other hand to guide my hand under her- or my- shirt.

It was erotic as hell. I could barely even think I was so turned on by her.

"I'm pretty sure our covers are safe with you staying in the other room." I admonish weakly, removing my hand from hers and attempting to sit up gently without actually forcing her off. It doesn't do one thing to discourage her. All she does is take it as an opportunity to scoot her hips closer to my pelvis once I'm sitting up.

I have to remind myself to breathe when she leans forward to my ear, making sure to press her breasts up to my chest in the process. She wasn't wearing a bra…or any underwear.

I take in a sharp breath when she whispers in my ear "is this how you want me?"

For a short moment my brain simply shuts down. What man's mind wouldn't? But then I force myself to remember her back in Russia. The way she looked in that alleyway. The blood and semen running down her thighs. And it was suddenly easy for me to physically pick her up and move her off of me. I couldn't have sex with her. If I did it would prove her right about me. If I did I would be just like every other mark she's ever had. She didn't really want me. She wanted to control me.

Even then she doesn't take my actions as a rejection. When I put her down beside me she ended up on her knees. In this new position she simply stares at me through her eyelashes and moves to remove the teeshirt- slowly and seductively.

All I could think was that it had to be my punishment. Maybe I was dead and this was my special hell because of all the people I'd killed.

Quickly, before she can finish the movement, I snap my hand out to her arm to stop her. "No, I won't do it."

Confusion flashes across her face for a spilt second before it is replaced by a mask of a school girl type seductress. "What, me?" She lays down slowly onto her back, reaching up to where my hand had caught her upper arm and attempting to move it the few inches over to her breast. I only hold onto her upper arm tighter and shake my head at her, my face letting her know that I'm serious and not in the mood to play around.

"Why not?" She asks innocently.

"Because you're my partner, not my whore." I retort, trying to make her understand. It came out harsher than I'd intended.

Instantly all her act is dropped and the real Natasha makes an appearance, angry and annoyed. "Right. Because you dragged me all the way from Russia because you just wanted to help me out." The sarcasm in her voice is so heavy that it's dripping.

I roll away from her and stand up, only slightly embarrassed by my still naked and raging hard-on. "Have you ever thought that maybe not everyone is out to get you?" I dig into the drawer containing my boxers and quickly pull on a pair and then add a pair of sweat pants on over that.

When I turn back to look at her she's simply sitting there staring at me like the question I asked was too idiotic to dignify an answer.

"Fine!" She yells as she gets off of the bed and storms over towards the door. "If you don't want to keep our cover than it's on you, but if you blow this mission I'm telling Coulson it's your fault."

Once the tee-shirt that I had been pulling on as my last piece of clothing is over my head I hurry after her. I seriously doubt Coulson told her that we had to sleep in the same room together, and I know he didn't tell her to have sex with me. S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't like that. They have professional lines that agents are never asked to cross. But that isn't why I walk over to her and pick her up, literally tossing her over my shoulder, and marching with her back to the bed. She wants to sleep with me? Fine. Then that's exactly what she's going to get.

Going by the look on her face when I practically throw her down onto the bed and then climb back in myself, I'm sure she thought I was about to violently fuck her. Of course I don't. I reach out to her body, pull her up to me as closely as possible into a spooning position, and fix the covers over us so she won't get cold in the almost nothing she had on.

When I turn off the lamp light and wrap my arms around her, she lets out a startled "what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same." Her body is incredibly tense against mine. I know she is on guard and mentally I can't help but shake my head at this. The woman has no problem fucking anything she's told to…or not told to, but she can't just relax when I'm trying to be good and simply hold her. There's something about that realization that's incredibly sad to me.

She never says anything, but after about thirty minutes of her body being as rigid as a board against mine I'm relieved to finally feel her body relax against mine. I listen to her breathing as it evens out and I think she's asleep, so I go to sleep as well.

When I wake up the next morning she's gone.

And she doesn't come back either.

It took three days, the completion of the mission by me acting alone, and a very fudged report to Coulson about how complications had arose and I needed extra time before I got her back.

Even then she only met me at the check point. I smiled at her when she showed up. I knew what this was. She was testing me. She wanted to know when I was going to turn on her. She expected it. She wanted the excuse to leave. What she didn't know was that I knew all this and I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

Her confused expression when she saw that I wasn't angry in the least was entertaining, but the one she let slip while I gave Coulson the initial report, painting her as a competent and reliable partner, was what I had to stop myself from actually laughing at. If she wanted to be difficult, fine. Two could play at this game.

She gave the old advice "kill 'em with kindness" a whole new meaning to me. I gave her respect in the field, covered for her when she defied orders (which happened more than once), and treated her like a friend. It drove her nuts.

In return, she often yelled at me in Russian. I didn't understand a word, of course, but I smiled at her every time because it was proof that I could get under that robotic facade of hers and make her feel something. It was almost always either anger or confusion, but that was okay by me. Those were both still valid emotions. She'd yell at me, I'd smile at her like it was the sweetest thing I'd ever heard. She hated it.

The second time we were assigned to pretend to be married the mission was longer. It didn't go smoothly. On day one I was almost killed yanking her out of the way of an explosion and laying over her as a shield. Our cover wasn't blown, which was good, but I has some third degree burns on the back of my arms that were pretty bad.

We went back to our covers' house, which was a nice little old stone place near the seaside. Wordlessly, she retrieved the giant first aid kit we had just in case and then she preceeded to unapologetically pour rubbing alcohol all over it.

I hissed in pain and she hissed back "Так тебе и надо, ты тупой идиот."

I force myself to smile at this through all the pain. "Aw, thank you honey."

It only adds to her fury and I find myself being jerked across the kitchen to the sink so she can start running the cold water over the wounds. It's too late for that and I think she knows it too, but the fact that she's still trying to minimalize the damage is a strangely sweet sentiment for her, even if she's handling the rest of my body as roughly as possible.

"I wasn't giving you a compliment, you jackass! You need to learn some basic Russian. What the hell made you so stupid back there?"

I reach forward with the arm that she isn't currently working on and push a stray hair out of her face. She doesn't stop me, but I can tell she's holding herself back. She could snap at any minute and beat me to death.

"If I didn't you'd be dead, and then who would I have to cuss me out in a language I can't even comprehend?" I reply gently, trying to lighten the mood.

She looks up from my burns to me, finally making eye contact with those big emerald eyes. I can see the unspoken gratitude there, even if it is buried underneath a few layers of anger and confusion at my selflessness. That's okay, I thought, one day she'll get it.

"Here's your first lesson in Russian." She sighs and then blurts out. "When I call you an идиот, that means idiot."

I give her my biggest signature smile despite the fact that my arms are both in serious, serious pain and try to repeat the word back to her. It comes out kinda butchered, but it gets her to grin a little and shake her head at me before saying it again.

I repeat it again, this time apparently getting it right.

"Good." She praises with a sudden clinical detachment to her voice as she spreads over the burn salve and begins bandaging over the wounds. "Now say Я глупая осел, кто собирается убить себя."

I do my best to parrot back the phrase, probably failing miserably, but she never corrects me for it as she finishes up. "What did I just say?" I ask, wondering how long she was going to keep her mask off this time and more than a little excited that she was voluntarily talking to me at all, let alone teaching me something important to her.

"That you're a stupid jackass who is going to get himself killed." She chirps before walking away from me to do whatever the hell she did back then before she started spending any real alone time with me.

When she came into my room that night, very late, and I woke up out of instinct I was genuinely unsure whether she had come to try to seduce me again or to shoot me.

"I want to know why you did that earlier." She demands, going straight to the point. I let my eyes focus in the dark and then find that this time she's dressed in pajama pants and a fitted tank top. _Thank God_, I thought.

She doesn't have to say what she means; that much is obvious. What wasn't readily obvious to me was why it disturbed her to the point of keeping her awake at night and driving her to break into my bedroom.

"You're my partner." I respond slowly, as if I'm talking to a child. At that point I was beginning to think that, in some ways, she might still be more than a little childish. I wait for the inevitable argument, but nothing comes except for a few Russian curse words she hasn't taught me yet.

"What does that mean?" I ask, sitting up in bed to look at the dark figure still standing at the other side of the room from me.

"Are you really gonna listen if I tell you?" She questions back.

I nod, though I'm not sure if she can see it in the dark. "If you'll teach me, I'll learn."

I hear her take in a deep breath and walk over to the side of my bed further away from my body this time and sit down lightly on the edge. "I'm not a patient teacher."

I grin "that's okay. I can be patient enough for both of us." She doesn't know that I'm not just talking about the russian.

I think that's when she started to look at me like I might be a friend. She didn't really trust me yet, but she did have to know by then that I wasn't going anywhere any time soon. We stayed up for hours going over all the russian curse words she frequented when yelling at me just sitting with each other in my bed. When the sun was about to come up she left for her room to get ready for the day, despite having no sleep whatsoever. When I saw her downstairs drinking her coffee a couple hours later it was if none of it had ever happened.

The second night she came back.

This time it was earlier, before I had gotten to sleep, and she was still dressed in the same clothes she wore that day. "Ready for your next lesson?" She inquires with all the professionalism of a paid teacher.

I smile and nodded at her. This time the lesson only lasts for a couple hours before she leaves, sleeping in her own room once again.

It becomes a sort of ritual between us and goes on this way for weeks. By the end of the first week I have all the curse words and insults down. The second week she brought a pen and notepad with her and backed up a little to teach me the russian alphabet properly, along with the basic grammar rules. The third week she begins teaching me names for random objects- chair-стул, wall-стена, window-окно, etc.

We have a good time with it. We joke a lot. I ask stupid questions. She makes me say embarrassing things I don't understand. And just like that a sort of truce falls over our partnership. She doesn't walk out or defy any orders on that mission. She even shows off what a helpful and useful partner she could be when it was time to get down to business and takes down most of the bad guys who had broke in alone…while making toast for the two of us. I think it's the only thing she knows how to make.

The very next mission we're sent on in Albania she's my fiancee instead of my wife, and she's supposed to be the epitome of innocence as her new character. It's downright funny to watch and I find myself having to use more restraint than I'm used to not to laugh at the way she acts when we're around other people. But at night it's still the same. Another week's worth of lessons fly by and I start learning to understand basic descriptions- colors, sizes, distances, and shapes.

After that mission, when we get back to base, things start to become different between us. For one thing she always makes a point to sit at the same table as me in the cafeteria. She starts trying to hold conversations with me there in russian about mundane, work related things. She never spoke about her personal life or background at all, but I was happy with what I got. With Natasha, there's only two speeds: fast and fatal or slow and torturous.

Nothing happened between us of course, but that didn't stop other people from talking. They took our otherwise empty table at meals and exclusive sparring time as a sign we were sleeping together. It earned me several pats on the back and smirks from the other male agents, but only made everyone else (especially the female staff) hate her even more. For some strange reason this entertained her. She seemed to get amusement from scaring people anyway, so she often did things to play along with those rumors. Whether it was to keep them away from her or from me I'll probably never know, but it worked on both counts anyway.

The next time she crawls in bed with me it's in my bunk room at S.H.I.E.L.D. and I'm momentarily terrified that the base has been infiltrated and attacked until I hear that familiar voice of hers start muttering to me in russian. By then I could understand most basic words and knew enough to catch on to her basic topic of conversation without any help, even if I didn't know enough to properly respond yet. Fury had subjected her to more questions about the Red Room and her past involvement in certain events he was interested in. She was in her pajamas again, so I knew it hadn't been a planned visit, but that she simply needed someone to rant to.

I take her to the shooting range and we practice or target shooting for hours. When she calms down I assumed that she would go back to her own bunk. She doesn't. Instead she walks back with me to mine and sleeps on my bed while I sleep on the floor right next to it. She's gone by the time I woke up in the morning.

It happens again when I get a nasty case of malaria in Ecuador. We're back at in New York before it hits and I spend three days stuck in the medical unit with chills and a fever before they let me out. For those three days I never saw her at all, but the night after I'm released (or decide to release myself) I wake up to her standing by my bed in the dark again.

I know its because she was worried about me and, saying it as best I can remember in russian I tell her "Я в порядке" _I'm okay._

She hits me on the arm, atop the healed up burn wound, as she tosses my covers back and squeezes herself onto the single sized bed next to me. "Зачем мне это нужно? Я просто здесь, чтобы уйти от женского отделения. Глупая агент в комнате рядом со мной не получится ее глупую музыку с."

I didn't catch all of that, but it had something to do with not caring about me and a noisy agent a room over from hers and something about music, I think. I smile and turn to my side so we can both fit on the bed easier, pulling her up to me in the process and tucking in the blanket over her shoulders. She's tense for a few minutes, but doesn't protest as my arm comes down over her ribs to hold her.

That was the last time I can remember her bothering to make an excuse to sleep with me, though it still almost exclusively happened on missions. Even once we came to the Avenger's tower, she only did it occasionally when something was bothering her. I never knew if any one wrong move on my part might end the whole thing. Just in case I never did a long list of things I thought might cause her to stop the habit. I never spoke to her about anything personal. I never put my hand anywhere except her arm and ribs. I never moved to get settled more than twice, even if my arm was dead for lack of blood flow and I was too uncomfortable to ever get to sleep.

I had my rules. I followed them. In return, she trusted me enough to go to sleep in my arms. And by the first year mark she didn't even tense when I held onto her. But all those rules went out the window when she got sick.

It wasn't like I had never seen her bad off before. Over all the years we've been partnered I've seen her shot, stabbed, almost strangled, cut into, burned…all occupational hazards when your a field agent. I didn't like it. Usually I parked my ass right beside her for however long it took to be told that she'd be alright. But in our line of work you kinda learn to expect that stuff. This is different. This wasn't something I'd ever prepared myself for. After Paris, I didn't know what to do with myself. I kept waiting to be told the usual 'she'll be fine' or 'she'll make a full recovery', but neither ever came. Instead I waited at that damned medical unit for two days while S.H.I.E.L.D. drained more blood from her than it seemed like she could afford to run test after test after test. She was so tired, so sleepy that she didn't even cuss at me anymore. She just laid there like a limp doll. It scared me. So I sat in the stupid chair pulled up next to hers and I held her hand even though I knew she'd punch me for it if she knew and I waited.

I held onto her hand when Steve came again, in-between missions just before he was to fly out to China. I held her hand when Hill came by with the usual paper work she needed to fill out but obviously couldn't. I held onto her hand in front of director Fury himself on the third day. He came in to tell me that I didn't need to worry about leave or how many absences we were currently using, just before her MRI. Finally, after the diagnoses was brought down and she woke up long enough to look at me and mumble an "I wanna go home" I signed her out and carried her out to the S.H.I.E.L.D. issued car.

That night, after I'd basically force fed her what seemed like an entire pharmacy's worth of pills, _I_ crawled into bed with _her._

I wasn't supposed to. The meds were still iffy as to how well they'd work and if they'd keep the psychotic breaks at bay, but as I stared at her in the old tee-shirt of mine and pajama shorts I'd dressed her in earlier, I couldn't stand the idea of using the restraints she was supposed to have while sleeping. If she was wearing them it meant that she really was sick and I might never get tell her the feelings I had that I knew she'd hate me for. So instead, I crawled into bed with her and brought her up to me and held her like I had hundreds of times before. I focused on her heartbeat, slightly irregular due to the drugs, against my palm, ignoring where it meant that I placed my palm. And I prayed that she would wake up and hit me or cuss me out in Russian. I prayed that she'd get ticked at me and march out of bed. I prayed that she'd wake back up to be her normal self period.

Nothing happened that first night, but the next night she did all of those things and I never felt such relief. I woke up to her empty side of the bed and find her in the kitchen and I want to kiss her I'm so relieved. I don't. She's angry at me for moving her stuff into my apartment. It was a presumptuous move, I guess, but what was I supposed to do? Hire some stranger to come in to her place and take care of her? No way in hell that would ever happen.

After that I finally get to sleep with her every night like we should have always been. I'm mildly surprised to find that she doesn't care if I move around, or if I hold her differently, or even if my hands wander a bit. It seems that all those rules I was sleeping by were for nothing. I know she trusts me implicitly by now, but I can't even begin to comprehend when it happened.

Maybe it was that first night that I insisted on simply holding her. Maybe it was when I snuck her out of S.H.I.E.L.D. without clearance for her first american cheeseburger. Maybe it was when I became fluent in russian. Maybe… I shake my head a little on my pillow at myself. There's enough maybes to fill a full length book. The point is that she's with me now. She finally knows what I've been trying to tell her in all those small, stupid ways over the years and, under all the false fronts and name calling and threats, she wants to be with me too.

I lean down to kiss the top of her head gently. Tomorrow is going to be interesting. Few things get Tasha as excited as a chance to interrogate criminals. It's another one of those things about her that tends to scare most other people. I smile. I need to get some sleep myself.


	18. 3 Bruce

I'm the last to join the apparent party gathered around the window to the room Natasha was in, interrogating the man we picked up from Russia, a Dr. Utkin. Everyone has chairs pulled up. Tony somehow got a recliner placed by the window for him to watch the scene from. Thor sat nearby, next to Clint, who is leaning forward as watching everything that happens with that quiet intensity of his that is a little nerve wracking to be around. Even though I know he couldn't hurt me if he tried.

I peer in to see a very alone Black Widow standing up in between the scientist and our observation window. She's dressed in her Black Widow uniform and looks to all the world as a competent, deadly femme-fatal. But, as her doctor, I know that it is very possible that she could pass out or get sick to her stomach or lose her muscle function in her leg and fall at any time. I don't like this. I turn to the others and point over my shoulder with my thumb. "Is it safe for her to be doing that right now?"

Tony chuckles and tosses up a kernel of popcorn that his little robot thing just brought over from a microwave. To my knowledge, that microwave hadn't been there before today. He has a big, movie theater style coke too...and he's passing Thor a package of Red Vines.

"Oh, trust me, she's good." The playboy chuckles from his chair, shooting an amused glance over to Clint, who completely ignores him.

I sit and watch the scene. When Natasha walks over to position herself in front of Utkin, I get my first look at him and laugh. There are so many ropes holding that man down that I doubt Houdini himself could escape.

Natasha circles him a few times before she starts and then places a hand at his shoulder casually, much to the man's obvious distaste. "Вы знаете, выслеживая и найма последние мои старые обработчики довольно экстремальный просто чтобы привлечь мое внимание." _You know, tracking down and hiring the last of my old handlers is a lot of trouble just to get my attention._

An electronic screen runs over top the window in of front us. It appears to be giving an automatic translation to what she just said, though for me it wasn't needed. I actually can already speak russian decently well, along with hindi and a few other languages. Thor understands every language...some sort of demi-god perk, I guess. Clint is fluent, probably from being partnered with Natasha so long. For Tony, I suppose it will be helpful. He's probably the one that built and installed the thing anyway.

"Получить ваше внимание? О, нет, мое намерение было, чтобы вы свернуться в отверстие где-то и умереть. Медленно, с треском, и в одиночку." _Get your attention? Oh no, my intention was to make you curl up in a hole somewhere and die. Undignified. Slowly, miserably, and alone._

"Boooh!" Tony yells as if he were at a bad boxing match or something.

If the Widow is fazed in the least, she sure doesn't show it. In a completely neutral, even tone, she replies. "Тогда я думаю, ваш план не работать для вас." _Then I guess your plan didn't work out for you._

"That's right Spidey! You tell him!" Tony again. I can't help but grin even though I think it's a bit inappropriate.

"Ну, я не принял во внимание, что Вы должны были бы те другие люди так манипулировать. Но, конечно, вы бы обмануть некоторые доверчивых марок в нянчиться вас через него. Это не важно. Это не остановит вашей смерти." _Well, I didn't take into account that you'd have those other superheroes so manipulated. But I should have. Of course you'd trick some gullible marks into babying you through it. It's no matter. It won't stop your death._

"Boo!" Thor thunders out, probably taking his social cues from Tony and assuming it was an appropriate custom every time the bad guy talks. Both me and Tony laugh at this and then Tony joins in, booing with him.

But Natasha's body language instantly changes. She grabs the back of Utkin's head, roughly tugging it backward by a fistful of his short hair so that he is forced to look up at her from where she stood behind him. "Что я сделал для вас, чтобы заслужить быть изнасилованной и оставили умирать в этом бога запрещенной месте?" _What did I do to you to deserve to be raped and left to die in that god forsaken place?_

Silence. No one, not even Tony, jokes at this. We all tense, Clint most of all.

The man shoots her a cold look and then stares straight ahead to the ceiling, refusing an answer. For a moment I think she is going to simply snap his head right then and there, but instead she lets go of his hair and circles back to the desk in front of him.

She runs her fingers adoringly over the side of a brand new knife's blade and then curls it in her hand, raising it up and then unapologetically stabbing it into the wood of the chair directly between the prisoner's thighs, an inch or so from his manhood. I cringe a little, as does every other guy in the room watching, and end up squirming in my chair and crossing my legs. She didn't cut into him, not yet anyway, but her face is all business now.

The man himself would have jumped out of his seat if he hadn't been tied down to it. As it is he couldn't move one pinkie a single inch. Natasha is the only one who doesn't react. Not even a little. She produces another knife, though I'm not sure where she was storing in on her suit before.

"Вы хотите ебать со мной? Хорошо. Я пошел на хуй назад. С помощью ножа." _You want to fuck with me? Fine. I'll fuck you back. With a knife._

"Uughh!" We all hiss out in unison, all grimacing and leaning back subconsciously in our chairs away from the assassin. I can hear Tony chewing his popcorn loudly. Thor reaches over to steal some.

Okay...so then...there really is no lines she won't cross, I think. I'm walking out if that actually starts happening. I've never been into gory movies and start wondering if this is going to end up being even worse.

I turn to Steve who is wearing a mixture of horror and anger. I can tell that he's about to move forward to stop whatever is about to happen, but Clint simply pushes him back down into his seat without bothering to look back at him, as if he had anticipated that happening.

"Let her work" is all he says as he continues to watch through the glass.

The threat obviously had the desired effect anyway. The man was transparently terrified. "Нет! Нет!" _No! No!_

Natasha grins sadistically and theatrically raises and stabs the knife into the chair between his thighs, closer to him than where the first one remains. The blade faces him and she had placed it so that if he even so much as twitched, the razor sharp blade would cut into his...manhood area.

We all jump and Tony drops his popcorn bucket, spilling it everywhere around him. Thor just picks up the kernels from the floor and eats them anyway.

"Начните говорить" _Start talking_.

"Whoo. Man." Tony reaches over to clap Clint on the back of the shoulder. "You sir, are a brave man!" Clint doesn't react other than to shrug off the billionaire's hand from his shoulder. His attention is intensely focused on what's happening in the room with his girlfriend.

"Ты убил моего брата! Мой маленький племянник ..." _You murdered my brother! My little nephew..._

"Абрам." Natasha supplies, visibly deflating a bit.

"Who's Apnampamm?" Tony asks Clint, so badly butchering the name that I only know what he's even trying to say from context. Clint continues to ignore him.

"Мой племянник" _My nephew_, the man spits at her. She picks up the knife further out from his body and gingerly places it back on the table behind her.

"да. Я помню его. У него были светлые волосы и карие глаза, и любил играть со своими грузовиками." _I remember him. He had blonde hair and brown eyes and liked playing with his trucks. _She paces the room a bit until one of her knees gives on her and she almost falls before quickly trying to cover it up by grabbing one hand to the table in the middle of the room and swinging herself up onto it. She does a better job at making it look like she meant to do that than anyone else I knew could in the pain she's probably in right now. She's going to need to finish this fast if she doesn't want him to see her sick.

Judging by the guy's still enraged face I doubt he noticed."Сколько детей ты убил?"_ How many children have you killed?_

"Вы знаете, я понятия не имею,." _You know, I have no idea._ See looks down and away, the hurt on her face evident and probably at least partially real.

"Для всех из них я заслужил хуже, чем это. Но ваш племянник является один ребенок в этом списке я не убивал." _For all of them I deserve worse than this. But your nephew is the one kid on that list I didn't kill. _

The man attempts to spit at her again, but she just grabs his jaw too quickly to let him, leaning in over his body and whispering a long few sentences into his ear that the speakers couldn't pick up. Whatever it is that she said has the desired effect. The man turns practically white.

Then it seems he can't tell tell her everything quickly enough. "Это нейротоксин, что мой брат работал над. Ваш Красная комната хотел контролировать исследования." _It's a neurotoxin that my brother was working on. Your Red Room wanted to control the research._

Natasha steps back from the man and sits down atop the table behind her, finally allowing how tired she actually is from the exchange show through. She really needs to get this over with quickly if she's going to finish it. I can hear the beeping on Clint's watch go off to signal the need for her to take her meds.

"Это то, что я работаю на некоторое время. Это будет сломать ваши химические усовершенствований. Он создан, чтобы имитировать симптомы нескольких встречающихся в природе неврологических заболеваний." _It's something I've been working on improving for a while. It will break down your chemical enhancements. It's designed to mimic the symptoms of several naturally occurring neurological diseases. _

"Вы были испытывает судороги, тошнота, провалы в памяти? Да? Это будет еще хуже. Я могу дать вам противоядие. Это остановит его от ухудшается. Но ущерб, что сделано, то сделано._" You've been experiencing seizures, nausea, memory lapses? Yes? It will get worse. I can give you the antidote. It will stop it from getting worse. But the damage that's done is done. _

Natasha continues to stare straight at him, right in the eyes.

"Дайте мне противоядие, и я отпущу тебя."_ Give me the antidote and I'll let you go._

"Я не верю тебе. Вот так просто? Как я знаю, вы не просто собирается убить меня ... или есть, что робот человек убить меня?" _ I don't believe you. Just like that? How do I know you aren't just going to kill me...or have that robot man kill me?_

"Робот человек не тот, который вы должны быть обеспокоены. Лучник может, но я не могу сделать многого об этом в состоянии вы положили меня дюйма Насколько я могу судить, мы квиты. Я не убивал вашего племянника, но я убил твоего брата. Дайте мне противоядие и я никогда не буду требовать никакой дополнительной Месть." _The robot man isn't the one you should be worried about. The archer might, but I can't do much about that in the condition you put me in. As far as I'm concerned we're even. I didn't kill your nephew, but I did kill your brother. Give me the antidote and I won't ever seek any further vengeance. _

The fat older man remains silent for a moment, considering this, and then nods. "Это приемлемо." _ That is acceptable._

The only response Natasha gives him is the quick removal of the knife from in front of his crotch. She then quickly walks out toward the door of the room, probably working very hard to hide the not so subtle limp. Clint moves to meet her at the door and I go to retrieve the meds she's now late for. It's amazing to me that she even managed to stay on her feet that long and I'm fairly sure that she's going to sleep through the afternoon for it.

When I re-enter the room Natasha is in Clint's lap in one of the chairs we had all pulled up to watch the interrogation, Tony is cracking jokes at her about how scary she is, Thor is standing behind Clint's chair, leaning down slightly over the pair and smiling, and Steve is inside the room with the scientist. The last of which I'm sure is trying to work out the details of their agreement before Clint can manage to get his hands on him again.

I very much doubt that the archer has any intention of letting the man go with no further harm. My suspicions of this are only confirmed when he stands again, placing Natasha back down in the chair, and turning back to me. "Can you see to Tasha for a bit?"

"No." Natasha cuts in forcefully. "I don't need a damned babysitter, Clint." And then, effectively killing her barely finished argument, she proceeds to throw up all over the tile floor near his shoes. I'm expecting him to drop what he was planning and fuss over her, but he does nothing of the sort. Instead he just leaves her sitting there with Thor quickly crouching down beside her instead, pulling back her hair for her as she continues to get sick right where she sits.

I think's it's a strange thing for him to think of to do at first, but then once I think about it I realize that out of everyone, his hair is the longest. He's probably had the same problem she is before at some point, if demi-gods ever throw up at all, that is. I've never seen it happen and there's been several instances where I've known the man to drink enough to kill an elephant.

"Eww...and on that note, I'm going to catch the next show over there." Tony comments, bugging his eyes out at the amount of stomach fluid that comes out of our teammate and motioning to the direction Clint headed.

I'm not sure I approve of Clint's actions, but I'm going to let Steve be the one to deal with it. I have a patient. I spare a single glance over to the doorway where Steve, Clint and Tony are currently arguing, before shaking my head and looking to the only other avenger left. My hands are still full of the meds. "Could you help her back up to the living room, Thor?"

The demi-god nods, swooping the woman up as if she literally weighed nothing more than a baby bird and following me out the door, down the long hallway, and to the elevator. As far as I can tell, all of Natasha's energies are solely based on not throwing up on Thor. I hope Clint doesn't do anything stupid; I could really use a little time to talk to the scientist myself, now that Natasha has gotten him to agree to cooperate. I need to ask him more specifically what was in that neurotoxin. He mentioned that the antidote could only keep it from worsening, which means he thinks there's already permanent damage that's been done. It isn't the most ideal situation.

Pepper is on her tablet in the living room when we come in and she immediately hurries to Natasha's side in the norse man's arms. "Are you okay?" The worry in her tone is evident and Natasha doesn't even bother to look angry as she gives a weak reply to the strawberry blonde.

"I'll be fine. All the men are being idiots" and then she surprises me by adding a "I don't feel good." Natasha is admitting weakness? Voluntarily? When and how did this start happening?

Pepper shoots me a worried glance and then looks back to her fellow female tower member. "What are they doing to be idiots now?" Pepper asks in a tone one might hear from a mother questioning their child about a playground bully. She must sense that Natasha isn't referring to either Thor or me, because Pepper never looks over to either of us. Natasha doesn't respond as Thor carefully lays her down on the couch and then backs up away from her, giving his fellow warrior his show of respect.

"They're fighting over whether to kill the guy downstairs." I supply, knowing the quickest way to put an end to it would be to get Pepper down there. "I need to talk to him. Alive. I need to get more details if I have any chance of fixing this." I council, arranging pills and retrieving water.

Pepper just curtly nods to me. "Well, I'll go see to that then." And then she's gone, her expensive high heels clicking at the floor as she leaves.

Natasha immediately throws up all the pills I have her swallow on my first try. It takes awhile to see that she gets everything down to stay, but after an hour and a half and Thor making her a pack of his precious poptarts she finally manages. I'm honestly thankful to him for his help because without the seizure medication in her system she could seize at any time and that isn't something I think her body can handle much more of.

Clint doesn't return with Pepper, but by the way in which she strolls back into the room, full of self confidence and power, I know she must have quickly put an end to any arguments about the prisoner's fate. "It's taken care of." She assures as she makes her way to were we're all sitting around close by Natasha in case anything happens. She's probably okay, but I still want to stick around for another few minutes or so just in case, though by now Natasha is sitting up, propped up against the back of the couch, and looking much more alert.

"The boys might be awhile. Bruce, Thor, you may want to join them for a bit." The way she phrased it is friendly, but I have heard Pepper use that tone before and I can't help but feel like she's trying to simply dismiss us from the room.

"We will be off then, my lady. Thank you for solving this quarrel."

I hesitate, unsure if it's a good idea to leave Natasha yet until I remind myself how capable Pepper is.

As I follow Thor out, I see Pepper sit down gracefully next to Natasha and say "I'm going to call my manicurist over here. One of my nails is chipped and I think you could do with a mani pedi as well. What do you say?"

"That sounds good." Natasha replies, her voice tired but as friendly as she ever gets, much to my amusement. Yeah, she's definitely in good hands. Plus, there's always JARVIS if she needs me to come back. Leave it to Pepper to figure out a way to please everybody and come up with ways to keep the spy occupied without even having to move from her spot. Good. Natasha will probably listen to her more than me anyways. I've noticed lately that she never threatens or ignores Pepper and that Pepper is good at getting Natasha to do what she needs to for her own sake in ways that I could never hope to, even (or maybe especially) as her doctor.

Thor and I make our way back down to the floor we are holding Utkin in. He's still alive, but the look on all three men's faces tells me that they aren't happy.

"Really? You sent Pepper down here? Not cool man, not cool."

I shrug at him, moving forward to the door of the interrogation room. "You want her sick or do you want her well?" I openly scold as I shut the door behind me, now alone in the room with Utkin.

"So now that you have chosen to participate, I need to know the specifics of the compound you used."

The man only stares blankly at me before I remember his limited english and repeat the question in his native russian. He nods and, without much hesitation, proceeds to give me the formula, which I copy down onto a note pad at the table. I also ask him for the compound of the antidote he claims to have. I want to go over both myself before trusting him with anything. It takes a good forty five minutes before I have all the details I need written down. I'd have to run them both through the computer (thank god I'm at Stark Tower and have access to some incredibly high powered ones that will make the process go much faster) but at first glance it all looks to be believable.

"Вы знаете, что женщина просто манипулирует вами. Это то, что она делает. Она не может чувствовать. Она монстр, а не я." _ You know that woman is just manipulating you. It's what she does to all men. She cannot feel. She is the monster, not me. _His voice is warning, as though he thinks he's trying to help me.

I stop straightening my paperwork and meet his eyes for the first time. "Она все чувствует." _She feels everything_, I correct, walking away before the other guy decides to make an appearance.

Then I leave, shaking my head and wondering just how many people assume the same of our female avenger. He doesn't know a thing about her. Natasha Romanoff may not be the easiest person in the world to get to know, but now that I know about her past it all makes sense. I may not have liked her at first, when she had that little girl draw me out and forced me into an alien battle. But she's not a bad person. She plainly takes pleasure in the fact that everyone is scared of her and she's more emotionally locked down than I would have previously thought possible of a functioning human being. That doesn't make her evil. She has feelings and she definitely can and does feel fear or else that stimulate I gave her wouldn't have had her react like she did. She also is plainly and obviously in love with Clint Barton. Anyone who has ever seen that woman take one look at her partner couldn't accuse her of what Utkin had.

I walk by Clint on the way out. I hadn't realized he had been watching us or listening and he's the only one still hanging around. "Thank you" is all he says, but I know that he means it, and I just nod back to him in response.

We both slump over in the strewn around seats left nearby. He's as calm and unreadable as ever and I wonder if he's relieved or still only angry. "I need a couple hours to run the formulas." I tell him, wanting him to understand why it's so important that he doesn't do anything stupid until I've had time to work. "If it's right and he's telling the truth I'll get Tony to help me synthesize the antidote by tonight."

"And if it's not?"

"Then Natasha might just get to go through with her threat, if she's feeling up to it." I reply, running my fingers over my tired eyes. It's going to be a long day. "I'll tell you as soon as I know."


	19. 3 Tony

I am never using surveillance on those people again.

Ever.

I don't even think I can look at them the same.

Clint isn't even that tall or handsome or anything...I always wondered how he got a girl like her. God, now I know. Now I know more than I ever, ever wanted to.

I might need therapy.

He's like ten of me in bed.

He's on something. He's got to be.

Plus, I never meant to violate anyone like Natasha said. I know what she's been through. If it were Pepper I don't even know how I'd handle it. I put the tablet down and walk up the hallway to me and Pepper's room, feeling guilty and slightly afraid after listening to Natasha and Clint's conversation about the camera. I just wanted to confirm what I thought before. It's not like I saw anything anyway with the sheet in the way the whole time. Natasha must be really cold natured or something, judging by how careful they were about keeping that damn sheet in place. Maybe it's all the meds.

Pepper's asleep like the angel she is and I just stand there and watch her for a long moment, so thankful that she's not Natasha. I mean, okay, Natasha is hotter. And she apparently knows some crazy tricks in bed. With Pepper, I'm in the doghouse more than I am in her lovely body. And she definitely doesn't have have the acquired skill in bed that the russian does, but Pepper is the one for me. She's my saint. She's my compass. She's the thing I could never live without.

As much as I like to joke about it, I would never trade Pepper for anyone. Unlike Natasha, Pepper has never used her body as a bargaining chip or a manipulation tool. She just uses it to show how much she loves me.

But I do owe Natasha. I owe Natasha for finally making me wake up and propose to the woman I should have asked to marry me years ago. Somehow I'm gonna pay back that debt too. And I'm gonna start by helping Bruce come up with a cure for whatever the hell is wrong with her because after talking to that Russian dipshit I know for a fact that it isn't peripheral neuropathy.

Which means it can be fixed.

"Tony?" Pepper asks tiredly as I slip into bed behind her, pressing my naked body up to hers in her little light green silk negligee.

"Yeah, baby?" I slip my arms around her and hold her tight against me.

"You're home." She whispers, still halfway asleep.

"Yeah, Pep, I'm home."

She wrinkles her nose as she gets a close up whiff. "You smell like liquor. How did the mission go?"

"Good. Good. We kidnapped a Russian scientist and Katniss is going to feed him to the spider tomorrow, so we'll probably know more then. How were you when I was gone? Are you okay? You didn't get attacked by a crazy Widow or anything, right?"

She chuckles a little. "No. I'm good. You should stop joking about her being crazy though. I think it hurts her feelings."

"What feelings?" I ask, mostly joking but a little serious. We are both talking about the same red head, right? Spidey doesn't get her feelings hurt. She doesn't like to show weakness, sure, but nothing I say is ever going to penetrate that emotional suit of armor she has.

"Tony." Pepper warns. I still, laying my head down beside hers.

"I love you." I spit out ungracefully. I'm trying to remember to say that more often these days. I'm still feeling more than a little inferior in my sexual stamina, but I try to remember that it's okay because Pepper has never been with Clint (or hopefully anyone like him) and won't know the difference. I don't care what else is going on right now anywhere else in the tower, I just what my fiancee.

I don't get nearly enough sleep that night and work all the next day after the interrogations with Bruce in the lab. The formula looks fine and it's easy enough to synthesize, at least it is compared to that time I had to synthesize the new element I needed.

"It's gonna take a while to cook." Bruce comments as we look at the way its reacting to the carefully moderated heat and spinning.

"Yeah...I'm thinking about eight, maybe nine hours." I reply, shrugging. As far as I'm concerned it can't come quickly enough. If what Dr. Evil said isn't lies, then every day, every minute Natasha goes without this stuff is time that the original compound is using to destroy her body further. He said the damage done is permanent.

Of course, he's saying that in a tower with me (the man with an arc reactor in his chest), a thundergod that can travel realms (or dimensions? galaxies? I really gotta get that guy to explain all that to me one day), a Capsicle who survived eighty years without aging a day, and our own real life Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hulk. So I don't take the words "can't be done" very seriously. I never have. I'll make the spider better, if for nothing else than to get Clint to chill down a couple notches. If that man doesn't relax soon he's going to drop dead from brooding long before Natasha goes down from the neurotoxin.

I meet everyone up on the communal floor for dinner. Pepper ordered in some...I don't even know what it is, but it smells good, anyway. Steve is already there with Pepper, both of them prompt as always. Clint comes over from the couch across from where Natasha is still asleep to meet us. She'll probably sleep through dinner, judging by how she looked earlier. Bruce drags himself in next, clearly as tired and sleepy as I am, and he takes the first chair he gets to. Finally, Thor makes it back from meeting up with Jane and they enter in as well. I'm excited to have a new person's brain to pick. Thor rarely brings Jane around here, usually opting to visit her wherever she is at the time instead of having her at the tower. I can't imagine why.

"Hello, my friends! I have brought my lady Jane to feast with us at this fine meal!"

Pepper turns to immediately shush him as politely as she can, gesturing over to the sleeping assassin still laying on the couch.

Thor follows her hand with his eyes and seems to understand, immediately shutting up and nodding.

"Hi. Is that the Black Widow?" Jane asks, incredulously.

"The one and only." Steve replies from his place standing across the table. I've learned that he won't sit until all the women are already sitting. It's ridiculous.

"She's had a long day." Pepper adds in a tone not much above a whisper. Lately she's been like that. Like she's spidey's personal nanny or mother or something. It's creepy. Earlier I came upstairs to find them actually getting their nails done together...like they're best college buddies or something. You'd never know one of them is a crazy assassin who likes to break into other people's personal mainframes. Creepy.

We all sit down and pile up our plates, with Clint making an extra one for Natasha. I doubt she'll eat much of it, though I'm with Clint on his opinion that she really needs to. Jane catches us up on everything that's going on where she's working in some boring place I pay no attention to...some town in Georgia, I think.

The usual mindless chatter serves to work well until a couple minutes into the interesting dessert that Pepper informed us is called Pestil. She knows I like trying different things and often orders in foreign foods as a result. Tonight's menu is Turkish food.

"Sir, I believe the toxin and antidotes are ready." Jarvis informs as I take my first bite. What is that? Grapes? Huh...weird. I put the pestil down and hop up along with Bruce.

"Thank you, Jarvis." The rest of the table stops what they're doing too and looks up to us. "Time to test our friend's honesty. Clint?"

Katniss nods and excuses himself with us and we all head down to the lab to pick up what is hopefully going to keep the archer's girlfriend alive. The neurotoxin itself is glowing an interesting orange color and both of the antidotes we cooked are a cool blue. At least they'll be easy to tell apart.

"You wanna do the honors?" I ask the archer, offering up the neurotoxin.

"Let Bruce do it." Clint replies and I wonder if he's still in the mood for dismembering the guy.

"Okay." I hand the toxin and one of the antidotes to Bruce and hold onto the second one. If this works, we'll need it to give to Spidey. If he was lying, I'll hold the bastard down for Legolas.

When we get to the holding room I plop back down in my recliner and Katniss does the same in the simple wooden chair he had pulled up earlier this morning. Bruce walks inside and up to the prisoner.

"Вы здесь, чтобы отпустить меня?" Utkin asks immediately upon seeing Bruce. I look to my translation screen that reads _Are you here to let me go?_

"Вскоре. Нам просто нужно убедиться, что вы честны с нами в первую очередь." _Soon. We just need to make sure you're being honest with us first_.

Bruce holds up the freshly cooked neurotoxin and Utkin bugs his eyes in terror.

"Нет! Нет! Это не дело! Я дал вам рецепт. Вы отпустите меня!" _ No! No! This isn't the deal! I gave you the recipe. You let me go!_

"Вы не думали, что собирались проверить его на Черной Вдовы, не так ли? Не волнуйтесь. Если вы сказали мне правду, чем все будет хорошо. Я дам вам противоядие тоже." _You didn't think we were gonna test it on the Black Widow, did you? Don't worry. If you've told me the truth than everything will be fine. I'll give you the antidote too._

Utkin calms a little, though not much. "Это все еще может привести к необратимому повреждению. Я не люблю иглы" _That can still cause permanent damage. I don't like needles._

Bruce ignores him and moves forward to inject him the the neck anyway. Almost immediately the chubby man begins to violently seize. The chair is shakes with the violence of the attack, but it doesn't turn over and Utkin is still hopelessly tied down to the chair. It stops after a minute or so and, when it does, Bruce opens the man's mouth to check that he hasn't swallowed his own tongue. He's fine...unconscious, but whatever. No one here is gonna have much sympathy. Bruce sits in front of him and waits patiently for him to wake up. It takes a while and he's vomiting all over himself almost immediately once he does.

"Bruce." Clint cracks the door to call him out.

The doctor comes as called, waiting.

"This is different than Natasha. It's the same symptoms, but she didn't get that sick so fast. The first night in Paris she was weak, but otherwise fine." Bruce simply nods, looking contemplative, and heads back inside the room with Utkin.

"Вы должны прийти чистым со мной прямо сейчас. Является ли это токсин вы дали Черная вдова? Имейте в виду, что у меня есть очень сердит, очень смертельную вне кто не хочет ничего, кроме как мясник человека, который сделал это, чтобы его возлюбленной. Я все, что стоит между ним и вами прямо сейчас." _You need to come clean with me right now. Is this the toxin you gave Black Widow? Keep in mind that I have a very angry, very lethal assassin outside who wants nothing more than to butcher the man who did this to his lover. I'm all that's standing between him and you right now._

Utkin glares up at him in misery. "Я не врал. Вот и все. У нас был уговор. Мне нужно противоядие. Пожалуйста, я не имеют усилители Черная Вдова имели. Это убьет меня гораздо быстрее." _I didn't lie. This is it. We had a deal. I need the antidote. Please, I don't have the enhancers the Black Widow had. This will kill me much faster._

"Усилители? Вы имеете в виду вещи, которые Красная комната сделал с ней? Какое это имеет отношение ко всему этому?" _Enhancers? You mean the stuff that the Red Room did to her? What does that have to do with this?_

Utkin begins vomiting all over again, though there's nothing in his stomach now. It takes several moments before he can answer. "Ее усилители предотвратить болезни. Они делают ее заживают быстрее. Они делают ее быстрее реагировать. Что? Вы думали, что любая женщина может шлюха себя к тому, что многие люди, а не заразиться ВИЧ или гепатитом, естественно?" _Her enhancers ward off disease. They make her heal faster. They make her react quicker. What? Did you think that any woman can whore herself to that many people and not catch HIV or hepatitis naturally?_

Bruce checks his heart rate monitoring watch at this and stares at him as Utkin goes on "Сыворотка пришлось сначала разбить эти усилители, прежде чем они могли взять полный влияет." _The serum had to first break those enhancers down before they could take full affect. _

"И противоядие?" _And the antidote? _He produces the cool blue colored tube. "Что он будет делать, если мы дадим ей?" _What will it do if we give it to her?_

Utkin strains against the ropes as if to reach out for it desperately. "Остановите бойню! Это нейтрализует вредное соединение и остановить его причинения дальнейшего ущерба." _Stop the carnage! That will neutralize the harmful compound and stop it causing any further damage._

"Теперь, пожалуйста,! Противоядие!" _ Now please! The antidote!_

Bruce complies and injects the man with the supposed antidote. Afterwards Utkin lets out a long, seemingly relieved breath. For several minutes nothing happens.

"Как мы знаем наверняка, это работает?" _How do we know for sure it works?_ Bruce questions, still suspicious.

"Я испытал его на крысах и обезьянах. Если я не мертв или захват в ближайшие несколько минут он работает." _I tested it on rats and monkeys. If I'm not dead or seizing in the next few minutes it works._

Bruce leaves Utkin alone without a second glance and walks back out here with us.

"What do you think?" The scientists asks both of us.

Clint simply blinks. "His body language would suggest he's telling the truth. Someone should stay down here and watch him for another couple hours just in case though."

I nod as Bruce volunteers to do it, much to my relief. Clint can't since he has Spidey to watch and I just don't want to.

"I'll make sure Utkin knows he isn't leaving until Natasha is better and come up when I think it's safe." Bruce finishes.

Clint puts a hand to the other man's shoulder and looks him in the eye "thank you." He tells his fellow avenger seriously before heading back up to try and force the saved plate of food down Spidey's throat.

I look at Bruce and sigh "You know even if this works it isn't over."

He shakes his head and looks through the glass at Utkin. "Nope."

"I can't handle this in my tower much longer." I blurt. "Cripples freak me out." That isn't true, really. Cripples don't bother me and I'd rather have her around as a cripple than not at all. But I'm not going to say that. I just want her better. I'm starting to actually miss her kicking my ass.

Bruce glances over to me and then cracks a small smile before sitting down in one of the mismatched chairs. "I know man. I'm worried about her too."

I go back upstairs to find Steve sitting near Natasha in the living room and holding her plate up for her as Pepper talks to her about an upcoming shopping trip she's planning. I think it's just to try to distract her from her nausea. Natasha is eating a little...sort of. But it's not much and she really, really needs the calories. Still, at least she can keep hold of her fork this time.

"Where's Cupid?" I ask, surprised he isn't the one trying to feed the spider.

"Laundry. He said it's been piling up." Pepper replies.

Something about the domesticity of that makes me chuckle. It's hard to picture the archer doing anything like laundry, although I know he must do it. The maid service handles ours- me and Pepper's, and also Thor's when he's here and Bruce. Steve had wanted to do his own and both Clint and Natasha had flat out denied access to their personal quarters to any hired help for any reason. Natasha's apartment was always spotless anyway- like the sickening kind of spotless where you could eat off the floor. Steve's was neat and clean on a more average level. Clint's usually looked like a tornado had passed through from what I could gather in the few times I've ever been inside.

"How's the antidote coming?" Steve questions.

I shrug. "Jury's still out. Bruce is down with the guinea pig now. We'll know within the next half-hour or so."

I walk around to the front on the couch and take a seat in the armchair across from it as Natasha half places, half drops her fork back onto her still full plate and wilts back further into the couch cushions. Without saying so, the spy is clearly stating that she's done trying to eat and both of her hands have a twitchy shake to them where they rest in her lap.

"Is that all you're gonna eat?" I ask bluntly.

Natasha shoots me one of her death glares. I shrug her off and roll my eyes at her, knowing that there isn't anything she can do to me right now. "Seriously? Still trying to scare me? You can't even pick up a fork. What are you gonna do to me?" I'm not going to pretend to still be afraid of her just to save her pride.

She counters this with a quirked eyebrow, her eyes suddenly full of mischief like they usually are right before she hurts me in the training room. _ Uh-oh._

"Jarvis, обмыть горячую голову."

I'm about to ask her what the heck she just said, but I find myself suddenly dowsed by the auto-sprinkler in the ceiling. It's cold. All the sprinklers in the building have the ability to pinpoint and aim the water to a specific target so the whole room wouldn't get dowsed every time I accidentally start a fire. I never considered the possibility of those being programmed against me.

Steve is laughing at me along with Pepper, though it's through the hand she has clamped over her mouth. I send another glare back at Natasha. Great.

Pepper's still laughing when she tries to talk again through it. "And now that that's settled, have you tried the karniyarik?"

"No." The little killer replies quietly, turning back to Pepper after sending me a big, angelic smile. I'm surprised by her honesty, but maybe she just knows that Pepper's been paying attention. Without hesitation Pepper picks up Natasha's fork and begins cutting up several small pieces with the fork and knife as Steve continues to hold the plate up for her. Then she picks up a small amount on the fork and holds it out to Natasha as if it's the most normal thing in the world for an adult to have to be spoon fed.

I want to leave to get out of these wet clothes, but I stay around to see what the red-head will do. She looks a little miserable honestly, but she does eat it, and Pepper just continues to do this at whatever slow pace Natasha can handle as she chit-chats with her and Steve about trivial things like re-decorating to try and keep her friend eating with her mind off the humiliation of it for as long as possible.

Pepper is a patient woman, though I already knew this, but even she can't get Natasha to eat more than half of what's piled on her plate. Still, if I had to guess, it's probably more than the red-head's eaten in a while. When Clint comes back up I know he'll be pleased. I head up to change my clothes, but only get halfway there when Jarvis calls me.

"Sir, Dr. Banner would like to inform you that he believes it is safe to inject Miss. Romanoff with the antidote."

"Has Utkin shown any further signs of of the toxin?"

"No, sir. He has made a full recovery, other than complaining of thirst."

"Yeah, well, why don't you just repeat whatever Spidey told you to do on me on him then?"

"It will be my pleasure, sir."

The AI turns off again and I turn around. Wet as I am I don't really want to waste anymore time. If she's like this permanently I'm hiring a real nurse. I don't care what Clint says. I'm not taking turns spoon feeding the creepy assassin.

Clint is back by the time I re-enter the room and I'm glad. He should be with her for this and I didn't feel like having to ask where the laundry room is to track him down. "Okay kids, it's show time!" I announce theatrically, clapping my hands together for effect, as I walk further into the room.

"It's safe then?" Cupid questions, still slightly nervous at the idea and letting it come through.

"As safe as it's going to be." I answer truthfully. Everyone is here except Thor and Jane. Oh well, he's probably occupied showing her his hammer somewhere.

I notice Cupid and little miss itsy-bitsy having one of their weird telepathic conversations and wave to Steve and Pepper to walk down with me. The assassins will come eventually.

We give her the injection in the medical lab room just incase anything bad happened, not that we'd likely be able to do much even in there if it did. She doesn't say anything or let on any emotions at all as Clint places her on the table and lets her lean forward against his standing body. Then Bruce brushes her hair to one side of her neck and cleans the area with iodine before going ahead with the injection. We all hold our breaths and Pepper clutches my hand. Nothing happens.

That's a good thing.

"Any changes that you're aware of Natasha?" Bruce asks professionally. Shining his medical light into her pupils and picking up her hand to look for any tremors.

"My hands don't feel as shaky." She replies even as he's looking at them.

He nods in agreement. "Well, it isn't a cure. But at least you probably aren't going to get any worse now. We'll keep managing you with medications until we're sure you won't be getting anymore seizures or the like."

I was expecting her to look happy or relieved or something, but all she does is nod at him and stare down at her lap.

"Make sure you watch her extra carefully tonight, Clint, and call me if anything unusual at all happens."

"Yeah. Thanks man." He's silently saying something to Natasha, and Natasha is saying something back, but I haven't the slightest clue what any of their barely there gestures mean. I'm expecting Clint to carry her out again the way he carried her in, but he doesn't. Instead, Natasha carefully slides down off the table and takes a few tentative steps with her partner right beside her, poised and ready to catch her if necessary.

It's a huge relief when I see that it isn't.

I turn to Pepper, who's beaming at the scene and offer her my own hand on our way up to the bedroom. It isn't something I generally do, but right now I can really appreciate the fact that we're both healthy and alive and we can do stupid things like that.

When we get back to our room she helps me get off all the damp clothes and runs a hot shower for us both. It's a good shower, with most of it spent with Pepper's legs around my waist and back up against the wall and we don't get out until the water turns so cold that neither of us can stand it. That night we set the date for our wedding for five months from now, the earliest I can convince Pepper of with all the planning she says she has to do.

The next morning Pepper and I both opt to go down to the communal kitchen for breakfast. There's no guarantee anyone else will be there as they all have the option of going out to eat or simply making breakfast in their own smaller apartment kitchens. But I'm curious and I want to know if there's any word on the antidote's effectiveness.

"Still nauseous?" I hear Bruce questioning someone whom I assume to be the russian as we enter the room.

She's sitting up at the breakfast bar by herself with a coffee cup cradled in both of her non-trembling hands. It's a good sign. Of course, now that the new stools are in, they're safer for her anyways (they're the new ones I ordered with backs that didn't look so easy to fall off of). I look around to find that everyone is actually here. Bruce is standing beside Natasha, holding his cup of coffee. Steve is at the stove making pancakes. Jane's eating cereal and reading from a newspaper section. Thor is toasting his foot high stack of strawberry poptarts. Clint is taking a cooking lesson from Steve and trying to cook bacon. It's nice.

Both Pepper and I immediately head to the coffee machine as Natasha answers Bruce with a "not as severely." He keeps questioning her, but after a while I tune him out. She's feeling better overall, but still not well. It isn't good enough. I pour my coffee, liberate a few pieces of bacon from Katniss's pan, and sit at the table next to Jane.

I've been thinking over the problem. It's like a new puzzle for me. The enhancers she had sped up healing time and warded off disease. Since she was in perfect health before this, it can be assumed they worked. The neurotoxin she was given broke down the enhancers. The solution, therefore, is to simply replace the enhancer compound so it can heal her body of the remaining damage. Easy.

"Can you replicate the enhancers like we did the neurotoxin compound?" I ask Bruce casually as he comes to sit across from me at the table.

The doctor looks nervous at the question. "I don't know...her file doesn't include a recipe or specific compound, does it?"

"No, but that's the only thing I can come up with to fix it." I reply.

Clint carries the plate of bacon over to the table after delivering a few pieces to Natasha, who actually eats them today. "That's Red Room science." The archer comments.

We all look up to Natasha as she's chewing on her bacon. "They're all dead" is all she offers with a shrug like she doesn't care even though I know she does.

"Did you blow up the building?" Bruce asks, looking back and forth from Katniss to Spidey.

"No." They both answer at once, a little too quickly. What are those two hiding?

"There has to be records somewhere. People don't just experiment on other people without creating records." Jane chimes in, though I don't know how much of the conversation she could possibly understand.

"Wait. How do you know what's going on?" I ask, wondering if she's hacked into my systems too.

The astrophysicist shrugs. "Thor caught me up. I bet they still have the records there, probably in paper format if they were as crazy as they sound."

"We'll just have to go get it then." Steve concludes.

Clint shifts around in his seat and makes a pained expression. "You don't understand. We can't."

"The building's still standing, Clint." Steve reminds him "Why not?"

Natasha walks over to sit beside Clint and answers before her partner has a chance. "Because we made it impossible to get in there and leave alive! When we infiltrated the organization seven years ago, we killed every person inside and we booby trapped the place for the agents who were absent."

"Well then what happened to all the people in there you killed?"

"They're still there, the corpses, but that's not the problem." She states, as if hundreds of dead and rotting corpses all sealed up in a building isn't the least bit off putting. "The place we'd have to go to inside is four stories underground in the middle of the compound. The building's computer operating system is rigged to kill anyone inside. We'd never make it that far."

"You hacked Hammer Industries and Stark's mainframe, can't you just hack into it and turn it off?"

Natasha rolls her eyes at Steve, starting to look bored. "No. When I set it up I did it thinking that I'd never come back. I set it up to be impossible to deprogram even for me, except for maybe from inside the building. Even then, there's no way to get to the mainframe without getting down to the second story."

"What if we got you to the main server? Could you disable it then?"

Natasha stares down into her coffee. "I don't know. Probably not. I might be able to trip the system for a while, buy some time, but it wouldn't be much. Maybe a couple hours."

"Okay."

At this, Natasha moves from the table to the couch and Legolas follows her, flipping on the tv to the current news. At some interesting headline that I'm paying no attention to, Pepper perks up to pay attention too and relocates to watch it on the couch next to the red headed spy. Natasha relaxes back into her place on the couch between Clint and Pepper.

"So when do we leave?" Steve asks loudly after a few minutes so as to be over heard from the living area, turning to me. I smile at him.

"Tomorrow? Is that good? It's good for my schedule." I look around at the rest of the group as if to check the dates of an arbitrary vacation plan or something, though it isn't really needed. Everyone will go. Steve, Jane, Thor, and I all migrate over to the other group, finding new seats wherever they're available.

"It's good for me." Clint immediately replies, hitting the mute button on the remote and leaning over to peck a kiss on the top of Natasha's fiery hair as she tenses up all over again.

Thor thrusts his orange juice in the air and smiles. "It shall be a glorious quest!"

I turn to glance to my other side at Bruce, who's sitting with his legs crossed and hands resting on the forgotten newspaper in his lap. "Sure." He shrugs, as though it's a given he'll go too.

Everyone is calm and satisfied with this plan other than Natasha herself, who gets so riled up at the consensus that she actually tries to stand up too quickly and nearly falls back down onto Pepper before Clint grabs her elbow to steady her. "What part of 'the building is rigged to kill you' didn't you morons get? This isn't some two bit criminal take down mission. I rigged that building myself. It will kill all of you if you go in there!"

"Except Bruce, 'cause, you know, you can't kill him." I snark right back at her, smile still plastered on my face. "And Thor...or at least probably Thor, with him being a demi-god and all. And Capsicle doesn't tend to stay dead either so-"

I notice it makes Steve smile despite himself but my comments do nothing to ease Natasha's rage. "And what about you Tony? Are you willing to die? Or Clint? Я не могу поверить, как глупо вы все! Я не могу справиться с этим! Вы все собираетесь получить сами убили ни за что!"

I have no idea what she is saying now that she's gotten angry enough to switch to russian, but I'm still surprised when Steve actually interrupts her. Isn't there something from the 1940's book of ridiculous manners that states that he can't interrupt a lady? "Mrs..." _Barton? Romanoff?_ I can practically see the confusion over what name to call her play out in his thoughts and it makes me laugh "...Natasha." He finally settles.

I suppress an urge to laugh again as Spangles goes on. "It's not that we don't believe you when you say it's dangerous. But when isn't our job? I've been risking my neck for people I don't know on the job ever sense Stark's dad worked on me. We all know you and we all care about you. And, well, even if I do go down on this mission, I'd rather it be a mission where I'm fighting for someone I love. When I'm fighting for my family."

The unabated shock that takes over her face is strange to see on the usually ever confident woman. It seems Steve's managed to make her speechless. If it wouldn't ruin the moment, I'd have Jarvis snap a picture of this as evidence that's possible.

Instead I just nod at Steve. "Yeah. Spangly's right. We're family. One very screwed up and odd family. And even though you're a creepy little spider, I won't just sit around here and keep watching you hobble around while Legolas force feeds you pills for the rest of my life. It's cramping my style."

I can see Clint watching her as well, though it isn't necessary to him to explain his motives to her. For a short moment I think she might be actually about to cry, but she blinks whatever it is away and straightens herself once again, wiping the shock from her features and replacing it with a completely blank slate.

"Don't do that." Pepper shakes her head at the russian. "You don't have to hide from us" her soft, comforting voice consoles.

Natasha glances over to the strawberry blonde beside her and I think I see something like fear in her eyes. Then, very quickly, my fiancee reaches over to hug the redhead and Natasha doesn't fight her on it. For a moment Spidey just lets her, doing nothing other than looking shocked and then afraid and then tearing up just a little, though none of it actually drops from her eyes. Then she hugs the other woman back and I know she's actually crying. For what, I'm not entirely sure. But I know it's a good thing. It's a needed thing. It's something that I get a sense she's been deprived of for her whole life up until now based on her records and what I know.

I love Pepper so much. Leave it to her to fix the people that are beyond any sort of logical help.

Nobody says anything. We all know better than to risk messing up the moment, but when Natasha finally does sit back up and let go of Pepper, whose shirt shoulder is now covered in her friend's tears, she doesn't try to hide her face from us. I doubt that Pepper even cares that her new shirt will now be ruined.

I also don't think I ever realized how much energy the spy has always put into hiding herself until now that she's stopped doing it for a couple minutes. No one says anything, but as I watch my soon to be wife do what she does and I watch my former pretend secretary finally just let herself go in front of everyone, I can't help but feel a little uncomfortable myself. I do the only thing I can do and squirm around in my seat and rapidly blink my eyes several times to get rid of it.

She's pretty when she cries, I realize, though not in a sexual way, and I can't help but wonder whether she's going to be different now. I don't really understand what Pepper did to her or why she's crying, soft and quiet as it may be.

"We'll fly out in the morning." I decide, only for Pepper to very carefully shake her head no at me and glance to the redhead, when Natasha isn't looking. Oh, yeah...she has a strict med schedule. Right. "...around eleven." I amend, to Pepper's silent approval. Clint catches our little exchange and grins at us.

Steve leans forward in his seat and nods. "We can come up with our plan on the plane." The Cap turns to face the assassins. "Since we aren't fighting any actual people you guys can fill us in on the details then."

Clint nods. Natasha still shakes her head at him, clearly at odds with the team's decision. I don't get why. The whole thing is to her benefit. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but then gets stuck and ends up saying nothing. Cupid takes that as a cue to pull her up to his side and tuck her into his arm and Pepper grabs hold of her hand and squeezes it.

Wise man that he is, Bruce takes this as cue to tell Jarvis to put on a movie...though who knows what it is? An old James Bond movie of some sort. No one's paying any attention to it. It just gives everyone a less awkward place to stare for a while. I'm relieved when the Widow falls asleep again, though it's worrying how much of her time she's been spending sleeping lately. Her head is slumped against Clint's chest and Pepper gets up to throw a blanket over her and gently pull her legs out further to stretch out over the rest of the couch before moving to sit in my lap. She's good at carefully tucking the sleeping red head in, doing it all without waking her, and a thought flickers through my mind about what type of mother she'd make.

We're not getting any younger and Pepper's already in her thirties, maybe it's time to grace the world with a Stark progeny or two. We owe it to the people, really, not to let my genius die with me and I'll need someone to leave the company to one day. Plus, I think I like the idea of seeing Pepper tuck in our kid like that.

Oh, hell. I need to stop spending so much time with the damn assassins. It's always around Natasha that I end up wanting more with Pepper and she needs to stop doing whatever weird mind trick she's doing to make me think like this. She's probably doing it on purpose somehow just to spite me.

Still, once the thought's there, it doesn't seem half bad. In my usual style, I figure I may as well just blurt it out, albeit kind of quietly into her nicely straightened strawberry hair. "Hey, Pep, you want kids, right?"

She snaps her head back from the direction of the t.v. to face me, surprised. "Umm...yes. Eventually. Why do you ask?" The startled look in her pretty blue eyes makes me smile.

I fiddle with her engagement ring, thinking that maybe I should have gotten her a bigger one. Maybe I'll buy her a necklace to match it. "Hmm? Nothing. I just think you'd make a good mother."

Her soft lips lean into mine and I kiss her back, holding her up to me and wondering at the crazy turns my life is taking. I love this woman. "Yeah." She whispers after we stop. There are other people in the room, I guess. Too bad. "We...we can do that."

I notice Steve is watching our little exchange, but I don't care. Just because he hasn't ever gotten any game doesn't mean I can't. I look around to our little group and notice Bruce and Steve both pretending to watch the old movie and Jane cuddled into Thor's lap similarly to how Pepper is in mine. Clint really is watching the movie with one arm wrapped around his red head and, although I barely catch it, I could swear I saw Natasha's big emerald eyes staring at us. I let out a breath. Did she do this on purpose? Did she orchestrate all that somehow? Was all that crying even real earlier or was it just to remind me how sweet Pepper is? She's messing with my mind!

I need to really get that woman up and running soon so she has better things to do again. Her focus needs to be moved back to her more harmless hobbies...like killing people and tricking thugs into reverse torture.


	20. 2 Steve

I feel awkward walking up to Clint and Natasha on the plane. They are talking in Russian and I don't want to appear to be listening in to what is obviously meant to be a private conversation, despite the fact that the two must know everyone on the plane can speak russian anyway with the exception of Stark.

"Уткин делает лучше, чем я полагал. Фактически он мог бы жить, чтобы отомстить снова однажды. Может быть, я должен закончить его в конце концов." _Utkin is doing better than I figured. He might actually live to seek revenge again one day. Maybe I should end it after all. _

"Вы знаете, что Фьюри сказал Клинт. Нет больше несанкционированные убийства или иначе вы будете получить понижен, когда вы вернетесь из вашей творческом отпуске. Я знаю, вы уже сократила ему яйца, прежде чем загрузить его на самолете. Не надо это отрицать. Пусть идет в части. Если он настолько глуп, чтобы после нас снова, я убью его сам." _You know what Fury said Clint. No more unauthorized killings or else you'll get demoted when you come back from your sabbatical. I know you already cut his balls off before you loaded him onto the jet. Don't bother to deny it. Let him go in piece. If he's stupid enough to come after us again I'll kill him myself. _

I cringe, thinking back to the scientist's unnaturally pale face when I helped Clint secure him into the back. I need to have a word about what is and isn't acceptable behavior for an avenger with Clint. Soon. I can certainly understand his anger, but there is a line that should never be crossed. It's what separates the good guys from the villains.

"Я не даю ебать о Fury. Кроме того, я не на творческом отпуске. Я ушел." _ I don't give a fuck about Fury. Besides, I'm not on a sabbatical. I quit._

At this Natasha's face goes totally blank, which I'm learning is a sign that whatever emotions she has swirling inside are strong enough for her to feel the need to censure. I can't get any kind of read on her past that though. She's too good an actress. "Why would you do that?" She asks him unnaturally calmly and in english.

"Why would he do what?" Stark asks, turning from his seat on the row of recliner seats opposite them.

The pair both ignore him completely as if he never spoke, though Clint does make sure to respond in russian to keep him from understanding. "Я иду, куда вы идете, помните? Даже к воротам ада? Я не собираюсь остаться, чтобы они могли назначить мне другого партнера. Ты мой партнер. Меня не волнует, о том, что жизнь, если она не включает вас." I go where you go, remember? Even to the gates of hell? I'm not going to stick around so they can try to assign me another partner. You're my partner. I don't care about that life if it doesn't include you.

"Ты такой идиот. А тебе не приходило в голову, чтобы поговорить со мной, прежде чем ушел губят вашу жизнь? Существует только два способа для этого в конец. Я все лучше и я вернусь на работу в фиксации мой гроссбух." _You're such an idiot. Did it ever occur to you to talk to me before you went off ruining your life? There is only two ways for this to end. I get better and I go back to work at fixing my ledger..._

"Или что? Что Таша? Ты убьешь себя?" _Or what? What, Tasha? You'll kill yourself? _ The rage in his voice at the idea is unmistakable and I begin to wonder if I need to get involved when I notice just how hard he's gripping her shoulder as he spits out the words. She'll have bruises from him later. I know he's angry but it isn't right.

The widow, however, doesn't look the least bit phased by the tone in his voice or the death grip on her arm. "Я не собираюсь обременять вас Клинт. Я-" _I'm not going to burden you Clint. I- _

_I love you_ is what I'm expecting her to say, but she doesn't. She stops dead in the middle of her whatever it was she almost said and suddenly looks blood drained. It's as if she caught herself about to say something she couldn't process...a child that stopped dead in their tracks after accidentally repeating a curse word for the first time.

But after only a second's delay she gets her coloring back and starts over. "Я не буду жить. Я отказываюсь. Что бы вы думали о успокаивается и иметь семью и все, что фигня не случится со мной. Это не то, что я сделал для. Вы должны понимать, что лучше, чем кто-либо. Ты тот, кто сказал мне, моя жизнь может быть чего-то стоит. Ты дал мне свою цель, Клинт. Не пытайтесь взять его от меня." _ I won't live like this. I refuse. Whatever it is you thought about settling down and having a family and all that bullshit isn't going to happen with me. It isn't what I was made for. You should understand that better than anybody. You're the one who told me my life could be worth something. You gave me my purpose, Clint. Don't try and take it away from me. _

I look to Clint and, when I notice he has nothing to say to that, I decide that now might be a good time to save him from the depressing argument. He still has his death grip on Natasha's arm, almost like he thinks he needs it to physically stop her from leaving, despite them being physically trapped together on a jet. I come to sit down close by in front of them and he gradually begins loosening it, though Natasha's body language never changes from anything but a calm blank. If she's relieved to be rid of the painful grasp, she gives no indication.

"What exactly is waiting on us when we get inside?" I ask, getting straight to the point as I doubt either of them to be in chatty moods after that conversation.

Mr. Barton looks at his wife empathetically and Natasha just stares out the window of the jet, neither answering for a long moment. I don't know what she could possibly be looking at. There's nothing out there but snow, just like the last time I was in Russia during World War II. It's one of the reasons I never liked Russia.

"Is it rigged to explode or something?" I try...knowing I only have a matter of hours before we arrive and I have to get a game plan together.

Natasha nods. "Only if you try to exit, but that doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

She looks up at me. "Because you'll all be dead before we can try."

I look to Clint, whose focus is on his wife. His hand goes to her shoulder and he pulls her away from the window towards him. "I promised her she'd never have to go back there again." He tells me apologetically.

I'm surprised when Natasha jerks away from him. It isn't uncharacteristic of her, but lately she's been a lot more...well, maybe not. Maybe she was just too sick to care. "It's fine! It's just...you people don't know what your getting yourselves into here. It isn't worth it just for me."

I shake my head. Of course it's worth it, especially now that I know is at stake here. She doesn't want to live sickly for the rest of her life and I can understand that decision even if I don't agree with it. I spent my entire childhood sick from one thing or another and it isn't any picnic. I never contemplated suicide because of it, but I didn't have anything to compare my health to either. All this is new for Natasha and she's probably been conditioned her entire life to never show weakness. I can only imagine how hard it must be for her for us all to see her like this.

I crouch down next to her seat in the extravagant jet, lowering my voice and meeting her eyes. "Then tell me what exactly we're getting ourselves into here."

She takes in and lets out a breath, staring at me. "The Red Room was my training facility. It's where I was made to be what I am. Believe me when I say that isn't a building you wanna get trapped in even without everything I rigged."

"What did you rig to happen exactly?"

"Everything." Comes her vague response, her eyes sharp and her voice a bitter laugh.

I stare at her, confused. I don't understand what she could mean by that, but I know she must understand what I need from her. The Black Widow is anything but some dumb dora.

Her green eyes look pained, even with the annoyed and unyielding expression the rest of her features make. "Everything they ever did. They trained us on fear. There's nothing out there anyone can do to me that they didn't do in there. I wanted vengeance."

"How did you kill everyone inside?"

"Every single way they taught me to." She whispers, looking through me rather than at me. It's unsettling to say the least.

I look up and over to Clint for some more clarification. He's watching Natasha out of the corner of his eyes, a worried look written across his features that he doesn't even bother to try to cover up.

"Mr. Barton?"

"Clint." He corrects me again, as he turns to look at me and stands from his seat. He walks toward the front of the plane out of his wife's earshot as I follow behind.

"I need to know what's going on if I'm going to plan this mission." I state, my tone as friendly and professional as I can manage under the circumstances. Tony happens by in that moment and stops to hear the answer as well.

Clint lets out a breath and glances back to his wife and then to me. "Seven years ago Natasha and I planned a mission with Director Fury. He didn't trust the Black Widow yet and wanted the Red Room gone. It was the perfect way to test her loyalty and she was all too happy to comply. The plan was to get in to the computer control room and rig the building to explode."

"But that's not what happened."

Clint shakes his head "That was only Fury's plan. Natasha didn't just want them dead, she wanted revenge. While I was physically setting up the explosive devices around the compound she used the control room to take out the majority of the population within the building, while keeping an eye on where I was from the monitors."

"But how?" I ask, beginning to get annoyed that I keep having to ask the same question.

"The compound ran extensive training tests on all the Black Widow candidates. They had facilities to test them with nerve gas, automatic firing squads, nightmare gas, rooms that can become melting hot or freezing cold...it's like something out of resident evil in there."

I have no idea what a resident evil is, or who it is, but I take out my little notebook and write it down to look up later.

"She activated all the door locks so that everyone was stuck in whatever room they were in and hit them with all of it. Then there was about twenty or so she saved to take down in person. Killed them in bizarre ways with everything from a paperclip to making them choke on their own body parts. Said that it was what they trained her to do. I still don't get how she lived through that everyday growing up. They tried to expose the girls to every kind of nightmare imaginable over and over again to beat the fear out of them. The goal was to make a perfect assassin spy. Tasha is the only one who made it past fifteen."

I nod and Tony removes his sunglasses he likes to wear as a fashion statement to look at the archer better.

"So...there aren't going to be any actual zombies though, right? Because if there are zombies I'm turning this plane around and hiring a home nurse." Tony asks, only half serious, but still serious enough that I think he hasn't completely discounted the possibility.

"I wouldn't put anything past that god forsaken place."

Tony and I both gape at him before he adds "but no, not that I know of" much to our relief.

"What is nightmare gas?" I ask, not liking the sound of it.

Natasha glares at us from her seat and leans her head back, pinching the bridge of her nose before standing up slowly and walking over to us. I can tell she's been listening in this whole time and I wonder what she thinks of how her husband explained what she did. She still isn't graceful on her feet even after the antidote and I have to fight the strong urge I keep getting to assist her.

"It's exactly what is sounds like." She replies to my question. "The building is rigged to release it in several places, along with the nerve gas. Personally, I prefer the nerve gas. If you breathe the nightmare gas in it will make you hallucinate about whatever your deepest fear is. The Red Room used it for training exercises."

"How effective is it?"

"It only lasts for an hour or so, but it will be the longest hour of your life. A lot of people who take it end up killing themselves to escape whatever their hallucinations are. It's different for everyone."

"That could be a bad thing." Tony murmurs, nodding his head over to Bruce with a worried expression. I know what he means. If Bruce is exposed, he'll hulk out for sure. Not exactly a good idea for a mission like this.

I call the team together and we all work out a basic plan while Natasha sketches out the building's multiple floor layout. Everyone but Tony, who has a self contained suit, will be wearing gas masks. Bruce and Thor will escort Natasha to the computer control room. Tony and I will disable all the bombs manually as Clint goes to the laboratory they used to experiment on the girls and look for anything that might help us. Once all the bombs are disarmed, Tony and I will meet up with Clint to help him look if he hasn't found what we need yet. Then we will all meet back up in the control room and get out of there.

It's another seven hours before we land and we wait until nightfall to go in. The building itself is depressing from the outside, a grey brick building that's both ugly and obviously abandoned. The fact that no one has been here since the day Natasha and Clint killed everyone inside is blatant and I begin to wonder what it was about Natasha's plan for trapping the remaining absentee members that could've failed. With all the steps she'd taken to rig the building, she must have expected their return. But, according to Tony, Clint had ended up tracking most of them down and murdering them instead.

The ethics of that kind of behavior confuses me. Usually things are pretty black and white. Right and wrong. People fighting for the good of others and people who are fighting for a gain in their own power. The two assassins on our team are nothing but unending shades of grey in almost everything they do. Hawkeye will laugh and joke and be totally calm right up to the point when he puts an arrow through someone's head. Natasha doesn't even bother to question Fury on the ethics of whatever she's assigned to do. Most of the time I wonder if she even cares as long as she's getting to fight somebody. It used to be hard to process whether to trust that they are good people or not. Black Widow was the most frightening person I'd ever met until I realized just how far Hawkeye is willing to go for her. After Tony showed me the file listing his killings I realized that he wasn't always simply the efficient killer I've witnessed him to be. Sometimes he was a sadistic one too. Now I'm not sure which of them is more dangerous.

Even knowing all that, just yesterday I told Natasha that I was willing to fight for her. It's true. I consider her family. I consider everyone living in the tower family and I'll always fight to protect them from any threat.

It took me a long time to understand why it was that my simple reassurance made her cry. When I thought it over and realized that it's probably the first time in her life that anyone's said that to her, it explained her reluctance to have us go in the building.

I lost more than a little sleep last night considering it.

As we first enter I can't help but think it's a little anticlimactic after hearing all of Clint and Natasha's warnings about the place. It's empty. There's no corpses, no skeletons, nothing but a dark empty room.

"We need to move." Natasha states, picking up her pace with Thor and Banner keeping to either side of her as she hurries through the room to a cheap, unassuming wooden door.

As soon as she opens it a pile of bodies (mostly decomposed to barely more than skeletons) pours out, falling one over top the other, and forming a mountain of corpses just over four feet high at the tallest point. It stops me in my tracks but the widow just keeps walking, stepping over top of them and crunching her boots through their bones to climb over the pile and make it to the other side. Every step she takes causes a sickening crunch and she has to catch herself when her foot gets caught inside a partially collapsed skull.

I can't help but think that it's just such a callous thing to do, but I notice Clint following and helping her here and there whenever necessary, until they disappear to the other side. I turn to Tony to see him also paused and looking more than a little grossed out before simply flying over the mass and following behind them. Thor follows next and then Bruce. I go through last and, by the time I do, the bodies have all been pretty well trampled. It smells terrible.

I'm expecting to see my teammates when I make it over, but instead all I get is a long hallway, lit up to show wood paneled walls and a bare concrete floor.

At the end is a mirror, but I didn't see any doors.

"Hurry up." Natasha's voice hisses, but I still don't see her anywhere. I look back behind me only to see nothing that wasn't already there. Strange.

A hand pokes its way out of the mirror and grabs onto my forearm and I jump and pull back out of reflex. What on earth? The hand doesn't let go and has quite a grip. I raise my shield in an attempt to knock it away forcefully when Thor's head and shoulders lean out of the glass.

"It is only an allusion, Warrior Captain."

Instantly, I relax and let him tug me through.

"What was that?" I ask once I see all my teammates standing and waiting for me once again.

Natasha only shrugs "welcome to the Red Room. I need to go that way." She points to the door to the left of us. "You guys should follow this hall and start where Clint did on the explosives on level five. Whatever you do don't take the elevator and try to avoid any rooms that have a bunch of dead bodies in them. If they died in there, it's because the room is rigged for training somehow and the computer is in control of all that."

"What about all the dead bodies we came across a minute ago?"

"You don't have to worry about those. That's just the personnel Clint and I killed coming in and out. We stuffed em' in the hall so any absent trainers that came back wouldn't know anything is wrong while they could still get out."

"That must've been three dozen people in there!" I cry, as Banner gapes a little at the idea.

The comment is met with only a blank 'so what?' stare from both of the assassins.

She disappears through the door along with Thor at the front and Bruce right behind her. I look to Clint, who waves over to me and Tony.

"She should be at the computer in a couple minutes. It won't take her long to hack it, but we've only got a few minutes before the computer catches on that we're here with them moving like they are. The lab is down the same hall they went, but you two need to go that way." He points to the open hall stretching in front of us.

I glance at his gas mask, but he doesn't put it on. "You don't need these everywhere. Just watch out for the rooms full of bodies like Nat said."

He's gone before I can respond and I look at Tony, who just shrugs in his suit. "Don't look at me, I'm in the suit. I'd put that shit on anyways though if I were you."

I take his advice and go ahead with the mask. It's uncomfortable, but I'm happy to have it on considering what all Natasha was saying about this place. Then we race down the hall into the direction of the first set of bombs, finding and disabling them without any trouble or incident.

The plan after the first set is to separate, as they are spread out over large distances in the compound and time is our main enemy if the assassins' intel is correct. I open a door to the room I must disable the next bomb in to find it littered with bodies...all almost completely decomposed into skeletons and spread out from each other the way I've seen men fall on a battlefield. Their loaded weapons still lay scattered around them and in a few guns are still grasped by what would have been the mens' fists.

I frown and walk into the brightly lit room slowly, cautiously. There was very little in the room and nothing to give away what on earth it could have been used for. What killed these people? Was it gas? If so, which kind? Was it the Black Widow herself? I don't see the bomb anywhere and I can't leave until I disarm it.

Honestly, the whole thing is kind of giving me the heebie-jeebies.

Then I notice all the bullet shells littering the floor. It must have been the Widow then. She must have come in here and-

-and I'm precisely five steps into the room before I hear the first bullet wiz past me. My shield is instantly raised. Where did that come from? No one is alive in here but me. I'm quite sure of that and, beside the bullet that just barely missed me when I moved, the only sound I can hear is that of my own heart pounding away.

Then everything happens very quickly.

Five more bullets are fired from almost every direction- one from the wall in front of me, two from different places in the ceiling, and two from the wall on the side of the room where I came in a moment ago. I dodge them all except one, which bounces off the front of my shield and combat roll over to a corner.

It's a training room, I realize. This must be where they trained Natasha to handle herself around live fire and to dodge bullets. It certainly explains all the men that were bumped off in here.

I don't have time to think about it much. Another bullet is fired and I have to jump to dodge it only for three more to follow suit, all aiming automatically straight for me. One almost hits me in mid air and I dive into a tuck and roll. Finally, from my new position on the floor further into the room, I see the bomb. Hawkeye had it hidden well in plan sight via camouflage.

It takes several long minutes before I can even get to it with all the firing going on. All I can do is dodge and use my shield. There is no way to turn it off and there must be fifty different sources for the firing. I can't possibly hope to break any mechanism or get it to turn off completely, so I just go for the bomb, praying mentally the whole time and protecting my head and torso with my trusty shield. I don't like this set up at all. It must read body heat or something. There isn't even any assailant to fight- the room itself just rains bullets onto you and there's nothing to do but try to avoid getting hit by being quick on your feet.

I disable the bomb as quickly as I possibly can...it's probably a personal record, as the bullets continually ricochet off the vibranium of my shield, and then I get the heck out of there.

Then I'm right back into the creepy never ending hallway again. Great. I find the staircase after a few minutes and several dead-end turns, or, at least I think they are dead ends? The next bomb I'm supposed to find and disarm is located on the fourth story, in room 4987. Unlike the rooms on the level where I was last, each room in the fourth story underground is clearly marked and labeled with numbers and sometimes with a mixture of numbers and letters.

That makes navigation much easier and I find the metal door labeled 4987 with no trouble, even if it did take a while to get there as the first room at the bottom of the stairs was only 4012. It amazes me how big this place is. Big, and oddly sterile and dirty at the same time. The hallways had a look of utter order and spotlessness, but the feeling I got from the place...I don't know how to explain it. It's clean, but feels so dingy. It's also got an incredible array of diverse door types. Just on the fourth floor alone I must've past at least thirty distinctly different doors made from wood and glass and metal...and some colored differently than others. Not that the color palate they used is anything cheery...just different shades of grays and blacks. I can't imagine what the reasoning behind doing that could be though.

Room 4987 has a black metal door and it's heavy to open. This is the only bomb placement that didn't make sense when Hawkeye pointed it out to me and Tony out in the plane over the map Natasha drew. All the other bombs were placed to make the building cave in and to cause the maximum amount of damage to the structure. This bomb wasn't placed in any critical structural point. Why did Clint even put one in here?

Immediately, I know that the room's use is entirely different than that of the firing room upstairs. This room has no bodies littering the floor, but a lot more furniture. To my left is a closed plain oaken wardrobe. To my right a large king sized bed with tossed back sheets is situated against the wall. So, it's probably someone's bedroom then...or was.

It isn't until I've walked closer that I notice the posts of the bed are bolted to the floor. What on earth...oh my God...there are hand cuffs attached to the headboard.

This room...

I race over to the wardrobe and fling open the door hard enough to split the wood and just stand there for a long moment gaping. Its full of all kinds of objects that I don't recognize, but I do know what the large whip hanging neatly towards the middle is.

Dumbfounded, I stumble back over towards the bed, using one hand on the side of it to support myself only to immediately recoil my arm as soon as I realize how very much I don't want to touch it...or anything else in this room.

No wonder Clint wanted this particular room destroyed so badly. This must be where they took the girls in the program...where they took Natasha...to...

I feel nauseated.

Objectively, it isn't anything I didn't already know...Natasha's even vaguely commented on it before herself once. It wasn't long after the battle for New York and she had returned from a mission where she'd gotten all this intel from what seemed like thin air to me. When I asked her how she got the woman to talk without ever blowing her cover she'd smiled and leaned in, saying

"I asked her really nicely" with a coy smile.

I understood what she meant, that she'd seduced her, but I didn't understand how she could anyways seduce anybody she wanted, especially a straight (or previously straight) married woman who was mother to five children.

She laughed at me when I asked her how she did it and said that "Oh Steve, sex and the art of seduction was one of the first things I learned."

It made me uncomfortable at the time, but seeing this place...seeing the whips and lord only knows what else in that wardrobe and handcuffs attached to the bed...I'm not sure exactly how she found any humor to laugh about it with. What on earth did they do to her in here?

I shake my head at it all as I pull the bomb from its hiding place under the bed and begin disarming it. Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I don't see where a pair of handcuffs or, God forbid, whips should have any place in a bedroom. I could never treat a woman like that. If I had a wife to take to bed, I'd give her all the respect and care women deserve, and there certainly wouldn't be any torture devices involved. I'm so glad that Natasha is happily married despite all this ugliness in her past. Even if they are quarreling right now I know that they love each other. All that stuff Natasha said to Loki about love being for children was just an act.

I take a deep breath and look around the room, noticing some dried blood smeared onto one of the bed posts for the first time. It makes me realize something odd.

I always thought that I could never find love again after Peggy. I feel like my heart has been through too much for that between losing her and getting frozen. Everyone I know from growing up is dead. Everything is different now. But I spent so much time feeling sorry for myself that I never realized how easy I had it. Everyone Natasha knew growing up is dead too. Everything is different now for her too. If the Black Widow, who endured all of this, can fall in love and marry and be happy...then maybe I can too.

Maybe there is still hope out there for me yet.

I hear a loud familiar roar and head back out to the hallway, knowing that the sound can't mean anything good. There are several loud crashes coming from somewhere, but I can't be sure where exactly, so I simply follow the noise. Eventually, I end up at another staircase, though this one looks to go all the way from the second story down to the fifth story, the metal grid steps following the right hand wall all the way down.

Then I see him smashing his way through some railing, punching at the wall with his enormous fist. One hit creates a large hole around what I think must be the third story, but Thor jumps down from the level above and throws his hammer around the Hulk's neck before he can go anywhere.

"Need some help?" I yell up to the thunder-god.

The norseman grunts as he's thrown against the wall and hops back up, swinging his hammer quicker and quicker by it's leather strap. "I've got him. Find the Lady Warrior!"

"No problem!" I yell up at him as I notice him get the upper hand on the green guy, pinning him down to the floor with his hammer.

I begin running towards the area that she should be, hoping that she's unharmed. The main computer control room is empty when I get there...no sign of the Russian. Oh no. Did she go looking for us, maybe? This isn't good. She's totally defenseless right now and all alone.

"Natasha?" I call, walking back out into the hallway and looking around at all the gray walls and dozens of doors. "Natasha!" I'll never find her in this place if I have to search it room by room. It would take days. Natasha said we only had a couple hours max on the plane earlier.

I begin to feel a little panicked. It's like looking for her everywhere in New York City all over again with no more chance of finding her now than I did before. I walk the halls calling for her and flinging one door open after another. I only just glance into each one. I can't chance going in when I have no idea what I might end up facing inside, but I want to at least make sure she isn't in open eyesight within any of them...or worse, that she's caught in some horrid training automation. She'd have no chance in the state she's in if she walked into the firing room and I get the feeling that it isn't the worst this house of horrors has to offer.

My voice is hoarse when I finally open the right door over forty minutes later. I don't understand what I'm seeing at all. It's a ballet room with cracked mirrors on every wall and blood stained wooden floors. She's dancing as though she were a prima ballerina following along with some invisible partner.

I call for her, but it has no effect. If she heard me, she gives no indication. She spins and glides and pirouettes to some silent music that I can't hear with an invisible partner that I cannot see. It's both beautiful and incredibly eerie. With her dancing that way in the dim light, which only leaks in from the hallway where I stand, she looks like a ghost. How long has she been in here dancing in complete darkness before I came? What is she doing? I stand perfectly still and watch her for a long moment, trying to decide what I should do.

Her pale perfect skin shines in the darkness and then her eyes catch mine in the mirror and she freezes right where she is, mid twirl. The light from the hallway reflects in her pupils as she watches me and I feel like I'm in one of Tony's horror flicks he likes to try to scare me with. How can someone look so beautiful and so sinister at the same time?

"Natasha? Are you okay?" I ask, keeping my tone low and gentle. I don't want to scare her. I don't know what's gotten her into this state or what it is she thinks is going on. Is it the nightmare gas? Is she having a relapse? I look down to her wrists and notice that her medical bracelet Banner fashioned for her is missing.

She never responds to my question and I take slow, cautious steps into the room towards her. "Natasha, it's alright. It's just me, your friend. Steve. You know me, right?"

She says nothing until I'm very close to her. Maybe I can simply pick her up and take her to find Clint? He'll probably know what to do. I place a careful hand at her cold shoulder.

"У меня нет друзей." _I have no friends_. She finally replies in a surprisingly strong voice before grabbing hold of my wrist and twisting it until I'm forced to the ground to avoid it cracking under the pressure.

"I'm sorry about this ma'am." I tell her, feeling guilty for having to defend myself when I know she's sick and doesn't mean it. I use my other arm to free myself and block a blow with my shield. She doesn't remember me right now and it gives me a big advantage from all the times we've sparred. I know how she fights. I know her favorite moves. And she's weak from still being sick. It doesn't take long to force her down to the floor and get her pinned underneath me where she can't hurt either one of us.

There's a strange resignation in her eyes that I've never seen in them before.

"It's okay." I tell her as reassuringly as I can manage. "I'm not going to hurt you." The expression on her face, blank, but with resigned eyes upsets me. She's masking herself because she's afraid. It's the first time in my life that I've ever had a woman pinned down under me at all and I feel rotten for doing it. To prove my point, I loosen my grip and stand up, helping her up as gently as I can.

I ready myself to defend myself if she begins fighting me again, but instead she does the one thing that's even more disconcerting. She strips.

Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, wife to Hawkeye, and my good friend, strips right in front of me. She just stands up facing me not three feet away and takes everything off. It happens fast and I'm so stunned that I can do nothing to stop her before everything is just a pile of cloth at her feet.

My jaw is completely dropped and I don't know what to do. For a couple seconds that feels like a life time she just watches me.

"Я знаю, что должен быть обращен свое наказание. Как вы хотите, чтобы я?" _ I know I must face my punishment. How do you want me?_

My eyes widen even more if that's even possible. "I don't! I don't! Please! Put your clothes back on!" I half yell, half beg. Her pale womanly figures looms in front of me, the first naked woman I've ever seen in person. She's gorgeous, but I can't be seeing this. Perfect as she is, I don't want to see her like this. It isn't right.

Still, she only watches me as if sure I am going to have my way with her at any moment, so I bend down and pick up her suit and- and lacy underwear for her. I hold them up for her to take with shaky hands as I do my best not to look at anything but her face. It's difficult.

"Here you go, ma'am." I say, averting my eyes as she finally takes them back and I pick up my shield. If she'll just get dressed again I can take her to Clint and pretend that none of this ever happened. But that isn't my luck. What does happen involves her grabbing my shield from me and knocking me out over the head with it.

When I wake up I immediately know two things. One, I'm in a new room I've never seen. Two, I'm being water-boarded.

"Кто ты?" _Who are you? _ The red-head demands. "Кто вас послал?" _Who sent you?_

"I'm Steve Rogers, we live together at the Avenger's Tower!" I yell, trying to get her to see reason.

She pushes my head into a basin of cold dirty water. I do my best not to panic. I've never been water tortured before and didn't have any time to take a big breath before she forced me under.

My brain screams for oxygen and I feel immense relief when she finally yanks my head back up. Immediately, I seize the opportunity to fill my lungs with a big breath of air.

"Давайте попробуем это снова. Кто. Отправленные. Вы?" _Let's try this again. Who. Sent. You?_

I take in another breath like I'm preparing myself to be forced underwater again, but as soon as her hand grips the back of my hair I force my head back further, head butting her and flipping my chair over so that it breaks. I'm out of the ropes in seconds, but this time she's pointing her gun at me as I face her.

"Natasha please! Think about this! You know me. We fight on the same side."

I hear the click of the gun as she cocks it, safety off, but her eyes are a sea of confusion. Just when I think she's going to shoot me she runs off and disappears. At first I think it's because she's getting her memories back, but then I smell it and I know why she left.

The gas turned on...and I have no idea what she's done with my gas mask. I cover my nose and mouth as best I can with my elbow and I stumble out to another never ending hallway.

Great.


	21. 4 Natasha

_Author's Note- Just to clarify, this happens just after Natasha's fight with Steve, once she returned to the ballet room. I admit that it's slightly repetitive, but Steve already had his go around with her; let's see if Thor fairs any better. After all, somebody has to go get her, right? She's already whooped Steve._

* * *

"You must not be beautiful, Natalia." My trainer's fingers lift up my chin even farther, somewhat roughly, but it is a touch without reproach. "You must be beauty itself. You must enrapture them. You must ensorcell them all."

My body is bent to his will; I can feel his arms tracing along mine, stretching them out farther to hold my stance more perfectly. My toes have long since bled through my wooden toed satin slippers, but I do not dare take the pressure off. The only rest my aching body will ever receive is in death. That will come sooner or later, but only after there is permission. Nothing comes easily. Nothing comes without pain. As his nails rake along the skin, not quite breaking through, but only daring me to drop my pose, I barely even dare to breathe.

The release comes long after; finally I am to move. The room twirls as I practice as I am told, as he barks "échappé"

"vole"

"gargouillade!"

"relevelent!"

"hortensia!"

I do everything as he demands, a puppet pulled from its strings, and I dance wishing with all my heart that I really could be a puppet with no feelings. The toe in my shoes are wooden. Why can't the rest of me transform thus? Why can't I simply be a perfect porcelain music box ballerina?

"Pirouette form grande plie!"

My ankle gives as I finish this, causing me to plummet to the wooden floor. I know it is very bad. I know what the punishment will be for such a transgression. Yet, even as my body automatically prepares itself for the pain that is sure to follow, I catch myself in the cracked and dirty mirror. It's just for a moment.

I can see myself.

For a moment I am porcelain. I am glass. I am defiled grace. Strange. I didn't realize before that I am beautiful. I cannot, I dare not, but I want so much to reach out to the mirror ahead of me. I want to know if I'm really alive.

There is a long moment in which I silently keep eye contact with the girl in the mirror there... the girl who has no expression and looks like a porcelain doll.

But then he comes to me with his long cane and I know the girl is about to be shattered.

I see him beating her in the mirror there. I see the body break. But I do not move. I do not feel. I am not her. I am not anyone.

My body may not rest. My soul is another story.

"Clean yourself!" He grunts, the man in the mirror who walks away, leaving the broken doll behind.

I feel her stand, as I feel someone's hand who is not in the mirror on my shoulder. It is difficult to look away from the mirror and the world there. I leave it regretfully to stare at the hand. My gaze is slow. Time is misty. The skin that I follow ends with a metallic sleeve...oh God, Bucky?

"Bucky?" I turn quickly then, finding a different set of blue eyes than I half expected. What manner of training is this? I've already fought and won...

My toes are still bleeding...the satin ruined.

"It is alright." The stranger's voice says to me. So confident. So large. Surely they cannot expect me to-

But yes, of course they do. There will be no rest. There cannot be any rest. My thighs are at his neck in an instant, my body firmly insisting him down, though he cannot be moved. He is a statue of blonde and blue. His eyes pierce me as I am firmly removed and held to the wooden boards of the floor.

It is another test. It is another inquiry of my worth. He is inspecting me. Evaluating whether I am worthy enough to be allowed to eat tonight. For what seems like the thousandth time I seriously wonder whether it is even worth it to live another day in this wretched world.

But something I can't put my finger on, a voice that belongs to someone I can't name, comes into my mind. He promises me chances. He promises me things I could never never have...

Clint?

No, no. I don't know anyone by such an American name as that. I take in a breath and grit my teeth.

I must show him.

I roll my sides over, throwing my thighs over his shoulders once more and clenching them for all they're worth. The moment that his grip loosens I swing myself over in a move that should have broken his neck. Instead his hand grasps me around the waist and I am torn away.

"Lady Natasha!" The oaf growls, his voice a thunderous boom. It is no matter. No stranger's tricks will stop me. I will not fail like the others. His hair is a weak point, long for a man's. I grab hold of the back of it and simultaneously jump forward to deliver a kick to his back. The move lands him on the ground, but not before he takes hold of my ankle and swings me around to face him, causing me to land hard against his chest.

"кто тебя послал?" I demand, never allowing my face to admit weakness.

"Lady Natasha, I am your friend!"

"врун!" I struggle to snake out of his grasp, nearly dislocating my shoulder in the process, but that doesn't matter. I'll dislocate many of my body parts on purpose if I need to in order to escape a hold. I quickly roll away as he simply stands once again.

I will not be defeated. This blonde man is huge. I refuse to be defeated and stand for that punishment. He will not get me.

I take in a deep breath as I pose for attack and smile. Bring it. I run at him again and this time I aim my attentions at the hand holding the strange hammer weapon thing, trying to knock it to the floor. It is no use.

I am pinned beneath the strange heavy instrument. What kind of torture tool is this thing? I can't move it away or off of me.

"Lady Natasha, I know you are unwell But you know me! I am your friend, Thor, of Asgard. We are allies. Try to think!"

Thor...Thor...It's strangely familiar, but I cannot place it.

Finally, I'm too exhausted to fight anymore and simply turn my head to stare at the wall on the other end of the room, my body limp. The giant oaf has bested me, so I know that he will be taking his reward out on my body any moment. I know it's going to hurt, probably even worse than last time, judging by the sheer mass of the man, if he's at all proportionate. I stare at the wall and then the mirror at the porcelain girl on the floor with the large blonde man looming over her. Then I close my eyes and suck in a breath as I start reciting the russian national anthem in my head, first in french, then latin. I feel nothing.

_Hmm_, I'm getting even better at leaving myself than I thought.

When I finish reciting the anthem in italian and english I know that something is off. I open my eyes only to realize that I'm not getting screwed. I'm getting carried over the large man's shoulder with one of his large hands securing the small of my back to the top of him. There's a funny red cape that's hanging over his back like the drapes in the director's room.

And then the air gets heavy and I'm not sure what training scenario this could be, but it doesn't matter because I'm failing.

The next thing I know I'm outside on mission and I remember that I'm not part of the Red Room anymore, or the KGB. I'm on a mission with Hawkeye and everything is warm and we're in Ireland together. It's late and we should be sleeping, but our covers are together and the night is dewy and alive and both of us are much too relaxed to actually go to sleep.

He has a rugged smile as he holds out his hand to me, skin damp from the mist. I stay on my place barefoot on the wooden porch for a moment, taking the scene in. The pub's music from a ways up the road flows past us in the breeze. Guitar strings accompany the grasshopper orchestra in the overgrown clover at my partner's feet. He needs a haircut again, I notice, though the thought of having to cut it once again for him later doesn't bother me. I secretly like the trust he has in me for doing it. It's dark out, but the full moon is behind him and I can see all the little details...the shimmering of the mist droplets at his neck and cheek. The glint in his blue eyes that match the night's sky above and around him. The way he smiles at me like anything at all could happen and he's daring me to take his hand and find out what does.

It's August and I'm not wearing much due to the heat. I have his teeshirt on. The one he gave me the night we met. Sleep shorts. Bare feet. It isn't smart. Not good preparation for any kind of potential threat.

His bow is resting behind me on the rustic floor boards of the porch. We're both relaxed and it's dangerous. It goes against everything I've ever been trained to be or to do, but I'm drunk on the night and him on the wine and, in that one moment, I can't bring myself to care if we do get killed over it. I want to feel alive because I'm living and not just because I'm surviving.

I meet his eyes and and nod at the silent question there, taking his hand and allowing him to pull me out into the overgrown field against him. The grass is wet against the bare soles of my feet and I can't help but appreciate how good it feels as his strong arms grasp onto me. We dance like wild people and he's just as bad at it as ever and I laugh as he spins me away and then back to him and tries to follow the beat carried in the wind only to fail miserably. Clint never could dance, but he was still never afraid of doing it anyway and something about that is astonishing and glorious to me. It makes me smile involuntarily and hang onto him as he butchers every song's rhythm that he attempts to follow.

Its like that with Clint, he's always so sure of himself that sometimes I can't bring myself to care if what we're doing is right or wrong. I'm actually dizzy by the time we slow to a quiet sway, holding onto each other like we've only ever done before to put on an act. Here we're alone, all excuses for this long gone and I realize that maybe Clint doesn't just look at me like he does when he's pretending to be in love or when he's acting. That glint in his eye is something that shouldn't happen with us out here alone.

I know he's going to kiss me before he does it and I rack my brain for any excuse I can find to let him. The bushes rustle a little ways off and I tell myself it could be someone sent to scout us, though it's almost guaranteed to be only a squirrel.

And then his lips come down to meet mine and I'm completely absorbed by their warmth and softness and then by how much more skilled his tongue is at dancing than his feet. My legs are up and around his waist before I know it and his hand under my ass, carrying me up to the porch rail and depositing me there only to gain a better angle. He deepens the kiss and I feel like I might honestly loose my mind if I can't have him. I want this man with every fiber of my body. I want to live and die next to him. I want to give him everything.

"Marry me." He whispers in a soft demand, his hands grasping onto me as if I'm the only solid thing that exists. It feels to me more like he is.

I watch him as he reaches under the tee-shirt to my bare chest and kisses at my neck and I take his cheeks in my palms to bring his lips back to mine.

"And what? Run away?" I joke, kissing him like it's the last thing I'll ever do.

"I go where you go." He murmurs against my mouth and we stumble our way backwards inside the run-down cottage, collapsing onto one another after we barely even get inside.

"Tasha?" He asks, his voice soft and sweet. I smile and bask in the feel of his warm palm again my cheek.

"Tasha?" It's a little more firm this time. But it's coming from so far away. I don't want to leave.

"Tasha."

I blink my eyes open to find myself positioned on my stomach over Thor's shoulder, with Clint standing behind Thor staring at me. His hand is at my cheek, stroking the skin there gently with his thumb.

"Clint?" I ask, unsure of whether or not I'm awake or hallucinating.

Tony appears from around Thor's front to stand near Clint with his arms crossed. "Hey Spidey! So are you, you know, you...or are you still feeling psycho?"

I let out a groan. "Depends, which one is more likely to kill you first?" I joke.

He appears to be considering the question for a long moment, his metal covered hand touching the chin of his mask as though in deep thought. "You know, I'm honestly not sure about that one."

I can feel Thor's torso shake with laughter before he lets up with his one handed death grip that previously had my stomach pinned to his shoulder. No one needs to tell me what happened, I remember the bracelet breaking off earlier after getting snagged and have enough common sense to put together the rest. As Thor places me back down on my own feet I take a quick mental roll call of the team. Thor is obviously fine and so is Tony and Clint. Bruce is wearing nothing except Thor's red cape, which he is holding around himself like a blanket, so he must have hulked at some point. That means that I've been out long enough for him to hulk out and then calm back down...so at least half an hour, I'd say. That's not good considering our time restraints.

I look around for Steve next to no avail.

"Where is Steve?"

"I'm here." Steve calls out, sounding very out of breath and looking more than a little haggard as he half stumbles, half crawls in from the open hall doorway.

I blink at him in confusion. "Why are you all wet?"

He says nothing, but bugs his eyes out a little as he redirects his stare to the floor. Then I start to remember a little...Steve and I fought...and I thought he was a guard just like I thought Thor was...and I stripped off my clothes...and then I drug him to the closest interrogation room and water-boarded him for information.

Oops.

"Oh, right." I say, letting him know that it's coming back, though fuzzily and only with effort. Trying to remember these instances always feels like trying to remember what I did the night before after getting black-out drunk. I can mostly piece it together, but not as well as I should. Of course, some of it might also be that I'm not ever sure I even want to know. "Yeah. Sorry about that." I've probably scarred him for life, if not with the water torture, then with the awkward naked moment.

Well, on the bright side now he can honestly say he has at least seen a naked woman before, though I don't think he enjoyed it much. I make a mental note to set him up with someone when all this is over with. It can't just be a date either. He's the type of guy to want to marry a girl instead of just screwing them, like normal guys like to do. I need to find him a wife so he can get laid before another century passes with him left out in the cold.

"Oh, no..it's- it's fine." I can tell that he's doing his best to make it all sound like it's no big deal to him. He's failing so miserably that it's comical.

I smile and chuckle at him. I also need to remember to teach him how to lie.

The exhausted and beaten soldier looks to Clint and Tony. "Did you get it?"

I hold my breath. Did they?

"More or less." Tony replies lightheartedly as Clint sheepishly holds up a partially burned manilla file envelope. I snatch it on impulse and Clint does nothing to stop me. The folder has my Red Room Number written on the outside. I flip it open to notice that all the papers inside are also burned and missing a couple inches off the bottom. I can't believe it. This file has everything. I continue flipping through to all of the procedures in order by the date they were performed on me.

"Can you still use this?" I ask the doc, both thrilled that any record at all even exists and terrified that it will be useless because of the missing parts.

Bruce comes to stand just behind my shoulder and glances through it with me for a few seconds. "There's some stuff missing. I'm sure it will help though. If nothing else maybe it will at least give me a basic idea."

"How long have we been in here?" I demand, looking to Tony. I know his suit can keep track of stuff like that.

"An hour and fifty three minutes." He replies calmly.

I nod and begin walking, however tired and heavy my legs already feel. "Okay, then we got seven minutes. We need to move."

"What happens in seven minutes?" The thunder-god asks, keeping pace right behind me.

"Until the computer sequence designed to kill us turns back on."

Steve's expression is one of pure uncomprehending shock. "But it's been trying to kill us!"

I shake my head at him and raise my eyebrows. "No, no it hasn't. Whatever you've been experiencing is just normal Red Room programming. The stuff programmed to happen automatically from day to day to keep us on our toes when I was in training here. The murder sequence I programmed in hasn't turned on yet."

The super soldier suddenly begins walking so fast that he's nearly jogging in his haste to get out and, when he notices that I can't possibly keep up and the rest of the group is staying with me, he makes a u-turn to come back and physically scoop me up to his side.

"Sorry about this, ma'am." He mutters in a rush as he all but throws me onto his back in a piggyback like position and begins running, holding his shield up in front of him as if he's expecting...honestly I'm not even sure. But he's definitely in a rush to leave.

I turn back to Clint, who just shrugs and shoots me our "I don't know" sign. Tony's laughing his ass off, but keeping pace with the captain along with everyone else. I would normally never let Steve, or anyone, pick me up and run with me on their back so childishly, but after everything I put Steve through today I figure I'll give him a pass just this once. After all, I did knock him out with his own shield earlier.

I give directions to Steve as he sprints down the halls, but even so we aren't fast enough. As soon as the group makes it into the cafeteria and Tony informs us of the two minutes we have left I know we aren't going to make it.

The red room is slowly coming back to life...the corpses on the floor clutching their trays standing back up. They're staring at me. Are they dead? Did I kill them? Or was that all a dream? I look around to all of them surrounding me. They're all staring, eyes wide open and looking through me. They know my betrayal. They know everything.

Oh, god, they are going to drag me back down into hell with them!

I focus on controlling my breathing and quickly remember that I'm being held onto someone's back. What the hell-

Steve! The flag! Captain America!

THANK GOD!

I hug onto Steve's back tightly. Maybe if I can keep a tight enough hold on him these horrible visions will go away. They can't be real.

"They can't be real" I repeat in a breath, not realizing that I say it out loud until it's out and Clint's back up in my face, holding my head with his hands as if that alone could shield me from whatever is happening.

"What is it Nat? What do you see?"

I blink, hoping it will go away. It doesn't and they're all still staring at me with those dead, soulless eyes, just like they did ten years ago. Do they have souls? Did they ever? Do I?

Did the Red Room take that from me too?

Steve readjusts me against his back to keep a tighter grip on me and it reminds me that my partner is asking me a question.

"I- I think I'm hallucinating. Clint, we really need to get out of here. Do you remember what I told you?" He has to remember. There is no time. "About my first kill?" I rush it out as the corpses revert back to their old bodies right before my eyes. Flesh and blood and uniforms instead of bones. I fight to keep my grip on reality, doing my best to keep my eyes on Clint. I try to focus on him instead of anything else. His grey-blue eyes...but it starts to fade away...

"Clint, please!" I beg. He knows what to do. His fingers go to the back of my neck.

He kno-

everything goes blank.

"Miss. Romanoff." Bruce's voice. Bruce...that means-

I jolt up and look around to find I'm back in Tony's jet, along with everyone else. Instantly, I'm so relieved that I let out a huge breath and lay right back down.

"Hey, Bruce." I reply, wincing at the light he shines into my eyes to check the pupils. Annoyed, I reach up and snatch it away from him, throwing it across the plane so that it very nearly hits Tony in the head before bouncing off the head rest instead. Too bad.

Bruce smirks, even if he does shake his head at me from his place kneeling down beside the seats I'm laid out over. "I'm glad you're awake, because I need you to shallow these." He holds up a handful of pills and I roll my eyes at him. So he does get the last laugh then. Great.

Silently, I hold out my hand to take them and toss them in my mouth before taking the water bottle the doc offers me next.

"So what did I miss?" Everyone obviously made it out okay from the looks of things. Steve's napping over in the opposite corner, Clint's up in the front with Tony, who's letting him fly the plane. I smile to myself. I know Clint's loving that. He loves piloting. Maybe I won't kill Tony after all. Thor is busy eating a sandwich that looks to be about eight inches thick made out of tomatoes and jelly and chicken and bacon and who knows what and he's getting more of it all over the jet's carpet than in his mouth.

"Clint took us up through a duct to the rooftop. We got down and away just before the place blew. I've got the file. Everything is good."

"It exploded?" How did that happen? I thought the boys disabled all the bombs...or maybe I hallucinated more than I thought.

Tony smirks from his seat and he stands up to come back to sit with us now that he's noticed I'm awake. "Oh, I got all of mine. Piece of cake. It was Captain Spangles over there that didn't get all of his. Oh, but you missed all the fun. Cupid went all batman on us and shot an arrow with a cord on it front the roof to a tree and then used his bow to hand-glide you guys down. It was awesome. I think I'm going to get him to let me try that off the tower. What do you think?"

I snort at him as my only response and turn back to Bruce. "How did you and Steve get down?"

Bruce motions his head back to Tony. "He flew me down and Thor toted Steve with him."

I nod, filing that interesting mental image away to laugh at later in private. I'm just relieved Clint understood what I was trying to tell him. It's been such a long time since I explained it to him. The first person I ever killed was on that rooftop and the air ducts connecting the top floor of the building (only a few yards away from the roof access) to the cafeteria was instrumental in how I carried it out. She didn't deserve to die, of course. She was only the same age as me. But it was me or her and I didn't become the sole graduate of the Red Room program by being merciful. That girl could have been me. I could have easily been her. I can't even remember her name now...or what she looked like, except that her hair was blonde.

By taking that girl's life I temporarily saved my own over twenty years ago and then once again today, since that duct is the fastest way out of the building from where the group was. It was our only hope.

But, not for the first time, I'm reminded of my ledger. If Bruce and Tony can get me back to working order, I have to go back to S.H.I.E.L.D. I have to wipe out my ledger.

If they can't, then I'll atone for it the only other way I can.


	22. 3 Pepper

The russian enhancers formula is slow going for the boys. When the team first returned from Russia I just sort of assumed, like everyone, I think, that if it could be done at all it would be a fairly quick process. That's how it usually works around here. But it turns out that there's a good reason why no one else has successfully made a super soldier like Steve. According to Tony, if anything is off at all, even one milli-measurement off...well. And Bruce is understandably even more cautious than Tony, having experienced the effects of a bad formula himself. Turning into the Hulk wasn't even the worst that could have happened to him. I don't blame them for being cautious.

For the first couple of days after the group got back all Natasha did was sleep anyway. I watched as Clint carried her in and, according to him, she didn't wake up for over thirty five hours past that. The trip really took a lot out of her physically. Mentally, I think it took even more.

Bruce made her another bracelet, of course. She hasn't had anymore psychotic episodes. The meds he has her on works just fine to stop all of that. No seizures either. Physically she's better than I've seen her in over a month, even if she is still tired all the time and sleeps at least eleven hours out of the day with all the naps she needs. It's the depression I'm scared of.

I have to admit, she hides it pretty well. If I didn't make a point of studying her I would never have been able to tell at first. But I could tell it from Clint even if I couldn't from her anyways. The bags under his eyes and constant worried expression as he watched her, for lack of a better phrase, like the hawk he is. The anxiety written all over his face every time I saw him spoke volumes without either of them having to say a word.

I know she had nightmares pretty immediately upon returning. The first night the team was back the entire tower was awoken at two thirty a.m. by her screaming. Of course, everyone but me and Jane in the building ran straight to her, but all they found was the Black Widow having a panic attack in Hawkeye's lap. One look from Clint- from what I heard Natasha didn't even bother to look up at all- and everyone left them alone. This went on repetitively for over a week straight.

On the nights it happened after four thirty a.m. Tony and I took to just going ahead and getting up for the day. Neither one of us could easily go back to sleep afterwards anyway. It got to become a sort of early morning family meeting for everyone except for Clint and Natasha. Tony would get up and turn on the coffee machine in the communal kitchen. I'd lay out the creamer and sugar. Everyone would float in at the smell from their various rooms and we'd all gather around the table in our pajamas- Thor in just his boxers. Jane in her flannel pajama pants and fitted t-shirt. Steve in a pair of sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. Bruce in his matching cotton pajama set I gave him last year for his birthday. Tony is his black wife-beater and cotton pajama pants. Me in my silk negligee and knee length cream robe. No one ever said much. We were all too tired and sleepy to bother attempts at conversations. Mostly we all just sat at the table with each other and sipped at our coffees, taking comfort in the fact that we were at least all miserable together.

Finally, on the ninth day, Bruce abruptly looked up from his coffee with a determined look set to his sleep deprived face. It was five fifteen in the morning and no one in the tower had made past five oh five in over a week. "I'm going to go in there." The scientist states, as the rest of us all slowly drag our eyes from the table up to meet him.

"What are you gonna do?" Jane asks, yawning through her question. A little bit of curiosity makes it into her tone, but mostly she just sounds as desperate for a full night of real sleep as the rest of us.

By this time Bruce is already standing. "Maybe some of my relaxation techniques will help."

"Good luck!" Steve wishes him. I stare back down to the steam rising off my coffee, silently wishing him the same.

I don't know what Bruce did, or whether it helped her much or not. I didn't see him the rest of the morning and he didn't come back out of the assassins' apartment until after I went back to Tony and I's area to get dressed and head to the office. The next night she screamed just as loud, but only once. Still, that once was enough to wake Tony, who has trouble with insomnia all on his own anyway. That was when I decided to go see what was happening with her for myself.

"Clint, Natasha? It's Pepper." I call into the intercom system outside their rooms.

The door opens automatically and I walk in to find Clint wearily counting pills and Natasha sitting on the small couch just inside the entrance. To put it like I know she would, she looks like shit. Her blood red hair was down loose and unbrushed. The bags under her eyes were even worse than mine I couldn't help but wonder how the woman who could usually pass as a supermodel looked so bad. So, I do the only thing I know to do and just drop down on the couch next to her.

"I need help planning my wedding." I say. It's the only thing I can come up with on this little sleep. Maybe if she has something else to focus on it will help her take her mind off of whatever it is that happened.

"Ask Jane." Is her immediate response.

I let out a breath and lean back into the couch, mirroring her body language. "Jane's just a bridesmaid. You're the maid of honor. It's part of the job." I don't tell her that Jane already has been helping. So far I think she's bought more wedding magazines than I have and has been tearing out page after page to show me different ideas she likes. Hopefully the Norseman will give her their own wedding soon- though I'm not sure how all that is going to work with him being an Asgardian prince and all. Will they get married on earth at all? Hm, maybe they'll just have two separate wedding celebrations.

"I don't want the job." Natasha throws right back vehemently without looking at me. She's doing that thing again where she pretends she has something better to look at. It's an avoidance tactic and I know it. "Just leave me alone."

I look over to Clint, who shoots me a look that is both worried and apologetic, before putting my hand at Natasha's shoulder. "No."

My hand is slapped away from her shoulder before I can even blink. It actually stings somewhat, but I put it right back where I had it before anyway. Judging from her mood I'm probably still getting let off easy. God help him if Tony tried what I'm doing.

"No." I repeat.

She looks to Clint. "получить эту суку отсюда, пока я оснастки шею!" That sounds angry, and I don't have to understand her to recognize it as some sort of threat.

"Она просто пытается помочь, Tasha." Comes Clint's calm response. I just sit there. I have no idea what either of them are saying. It's probably russian, but it could be a number of things. I can't speak a million languages like all the geniuses I live with. I can speak a little japanese, enough to be polite in business meetings anyway, since so much of the business Stark Industries does involve japanese companies. But other than that and french (I took that for my second language classes in school for a few years) I'm lost if it's not english.

For a long moment the assassins seem to be having a glare-off, but then without any obvious explanation, Clint gives in and quickly strides over to us. He first shoves the pills he had been counting into Natasha's hands and then immediately pulls me up. It isn't rough or rude, but it is quick. I'm escorted out of the apartment so fast I hardly process the sound of their door slamming behind us.

"Sorry about that." The archer mumbles, rubbing at his eyes as though he's still trying to wake up.

I blink, trying to re-adjust my eyes to the brighter lights of the hallway. "Did I do something wrong?"

The man grimaces and I quickly realize that he looks every bit as bad as she does. Maybe worse. "No. She's just grouchy...been having nightmares."

"Is it because of the Red Room?" I ask, though I'm pretty sure it is already. Its the only explanation that makes sense.

Clint nods, looks nervously back to the door, and then back to me. "Is anyone else up? Bruce maybe?"

I shake my head. I haven't seen him this morning. "Just me and Tony. I can get him..."

Clint nods in agreement and ten minutes later we're walking out of the tower towards the closest coffee shop in a mutual silent need for coffee. I feel slightly guilty about sticking Tony in the room alone with her, but at least he has a suit to protect him. Neither of us say anything until after we've ordered and we're sitting at a small wooden table tucked away in a corner of the otherwise empty shop with my skinny latte and his black coffee.

"It's just the Red Room, you know?" He offers after take his first couple sips of coffee.

I nod, though I know I don't understand as intimately as he does. "What can I do?"

He looks me in the eye then. "Be her friend. She needs you. She's never had a woman friend before. Most of 'em either hate or fear her."

I give a polite smile before taking another sip of the nice warm drink. "She can be a challenge sometimes. I have to admit I didn't care for her when she came around as Natalie."

This earns me one of his signature grins. "No one does. Usually she's either fake stealing someone's man or killing them. Doesn't tend to endear her to people. The other women at S.H.I.E.L.D. especially."

"Jealous?" I guess.

Clint raises his eyebrows at me and takes another sip. "Something like that."

"Is S.H.I.E.L.D. the reason ya'll-"

"Partially." He interrupts, catching on to what I'm asking before I even finish. "But not really. Everyone there thinks I've been sleeping with her since I brought her back with me. They attributed my sparing her as the Black Widow tricking me. Most of them still think she just seduced her way into S.H.I.E.L.D."

The last statement surprises me. I always had assumed that the pair of assassins were better respected within their organization than that. "You didn't correct them?"

Clint snorts. "I didn't have much of a chance. Natasha did everything she could to play along with it anyway."

Well, that does sound like Natasha. She loves messing with people just as much as Tony. She's just infinitely more tactful in how she does it. "What did she do?"

"She refused to talk to anyone other than me for starters. It took Fury days to get her to admit she can understand and speak english and talk to him. It was weeks for Coulson. I don't think she socially spoke a word to anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. for the first six months she was there and she didn't speak in english in front of them for almost a year. She hung all over me in front of all of 'em too."

"Why?" I can't help but ask, curious.

Clint shrugs. "If you spend your whole life being trained to kill; to see everyone as marks or monsters waiting to hurt you, would you want to talk to anybody?"

My gaze falls back down to the table and say the only thing anyone can say. "I suppose not."

"She just did it to keep everyone away from her and, by proxy, me." Maybe I'm mistaken, but the glint in his eyes when I look back up at him again suggests that he didn't really mind it. Was he in love with her even back then? When exactly did they get so close?

"Did you have feelings for her back then?"

He grins at that and nods "I watch my marks sometimes, you see, to get a clear shot somewhere they aren't likely to be noticed. S.H.I.E.L.D. sends me when they want to be discreet." I smile at him. He didn't really give me much of a direct answer, but he doesn't have to tell me anymore for me to understand what he means.

"What about her?"

The archer grins and snorts. "Getting Natasha Romanoff to trust me was a lot like trying to tame a feral cat. It took a while and resulted in a lot of scratch marks. I don't know when it happened for her."

We sit there for a little while, draining the rest of our drinks, before he says anything else. "I'm afraid of what gonna happen if Tony and Bruce can't get that serum right. She's a strong woman, but everyone has a breaking point and I think she's at it now."

I want to reassure him but I can't when I'm worried about the exact same thing. "I've never heard her yell at night before."

"That's because she couldn't dream. Don't know why. Probably something they did to her. Been coming back though. At first it was okay, but lately she's been dreaming about all the people she's killed. She can't handle it. I don't know what to do."

I look out the window to notice the sun starting to come up and look down at my watch. I'm going to be late for a conference call if I don't get back soon. I reach out and put my hand on his, hoping it will offer some sort of comfort. I know how hard all this must be on him too. He looks every bit as tired as she did.

"She's important to all of us. You don't have to do this alone."

"Thanks. You know, I know we never really talk, just you and me. But I really appreciate having you around Pepper. Don't let Nat scare you away from her. She needs you. She won't really hurt you."

"I know." I tell him, standing up from my seat and gathering my coat and purse. He follows me out.

I make it to my office only a couple minutes late and the conference call hasn't started yet, thank goodness. I glance over to the paperwork and roll my eyes, wishing I had gotten another coffee to go. I can't ask Tony to help, he'll be in the lab all day with Bruce, not that he's ever been much help with paperwork anyways. Right now that's more important than this anyway. I sigh. It's going to be another long day.

I lung myself back up from my desk and begin the process of faxing all the necessary paperwork for the meeting and just as I'm putting in the last of the papers, the hologram pops to connect us. Quickly typing in the fax codes I need, I turn to the hologram and straighten myself.

"おはよう" _Good morning! _I quickly greet in japanese, just to be polite. They are all fluent in english, thank god. They are also based in London for the moment, rather than Japan, which makes finding conference hours much easier for everyone.

"Good morning." The executive greets.

I smile and after the customary few minutes of polite chit chat, I excuse myself to transfer the hologram into the conference room. I should have started out in there, but those couple of minutes threw me off. I'm also doing my very best not to yawn, but it's nearly impossible. I keep covering my mouth and doing my best to look more animated and awake than I feel. By the time I'm an hour into the meeting it's all I can do to stay awake and listen to what their company is proposing at all.

The meeting drags on for what feels like forever and it's really all I can do to stay alert looking and focused. All I really want to do is go back to bed myself. Unlike my tower mates, I'm not a superhero. I'm a normal 33 year old woman and I need eight hours of sleep a night. Preferably in a row. Ten days on on five or six is starting to take its toll. I sigh after everything is finally wrapped up and the hologram shuts off and sit down at the otherwise empty conference table, wrapping my arms up in front of me and resting my head in them for just a minute. Maybe tonight I'll try going to bed right after dinner. It will mean skipping yoga, but whatever. I can't keep doing this and Natasha isn't showing any signs of improvement if what I encountered this morning is any indication.

I feel myself beginning to drift to sleep right there on glass of the table so I quickly force myself to stand back up. I can't take a nap right now. I have another meeting in two hours and a mountain of paperwork to deal with.

_I can do this. I can do this._ I mentally chant to myself.

I walk back to my office just in time to hear the land line ringing. _Great. _

But then, just as I make it through the door I freeze in my place. The ringing stopped early

"Hello, Stark Industries. This is Natasha. How can I help you?" Answers the red head sitting in my desk as naturally as if it's what she did every day of her life. She's wearing a skirt suit and, to my confusion, a pair of smart black high heels as well. She looks just like she did as Natalie; her make up is done, her hair is curled and clipped back.

She grins at me from her place as she continues the conversation, responding to their questions very similarly to how I would. Then she uses the pen she was fiddling with to point to the white leather couch. I turn in that direction to find a take out bag from my favorite organic cafe sitting out waiting for me. My favorite type of sandwich is inside, along with a side salad and a coffee that is still steaming hot.

She watches my shocked expression with a slightly amused grin as she quickly and efficiently handles the call. "I moved your afternoon conference from one to three. Eat that and go relax. I've got this today."

I just stare at her for a few seconds, trying to process what the hell is going on here. "You don't have to-"

"I want to." She interrupts, her usual confident voice back that instantly makes me feel better. "Now get out of my office."

I nod and take the orders as what I know they really are: an apology.

It isn't hard to fall asleep after eating the lunch, even with the coffee. I really needed it. I sleep for about two hours and then get back up to prepare for my next conference call. I make a stop (even though its in the opposite direction) first though, to the lab.

I can see from the entrance that both Tony and Bruce are hunched over working.

"If we increase the dose of Trifluoroacetic acid maybe..." Tony suggests hopefully to Bruce as he uses an eyedropper to add one clear drop to whatever purple chemical compound in the breaker that Bruce is holding.

Almost instantly there the sound of exploding glass travels through the lab and a giant puff of smoke appears.

"Argh!" Bruce yells, waving his now chemically burnt hand around before turning green and hulking out. He knocks over two lab tables and everything they had set up between them.

"It's okay buddy." Tony holds his hands up while trying to calm the monster. My eyes widen a bit and I let out an involuntary squeal.

Thankfully, it doesn't get the Hulk's attention, but it does get Tony's, even with the Hulk using his great big green fist to knock everything over in sight. "Uh, Pepper, honey, now's really not a good time."

I nod silently and back up slowly to the elevator entrance. I only hope Tony can deal with this alone. Just to be on the safe side I make a stop to Steve's floor and ask him to go check. Ever the gentleman, he's quick to carry out my wish and takes the stairs down as I take the elevator up.

What I find in my office is something no assistant except Natalie (or Natasha) could ever do. Everything is systematically ordered atop my desk. The paperwork that should have taken at least five hours is finished and filed, except for the things I would need for the conference, which are all neatly laid out for me. A list of all of my phone messages is also posted, along with notes about their contact info and how urgent each one actually is. I find myself smiling as I sit down in my empty chair and pull up my emails only to find almost of of those read and promptly replied to as well.

Well, if she can't be a superhero anymore, she could certainly still be a super assistant. The rest of my day goes as smooth as butter and I actually end up running out of work early and leave (for the first time in months) before four thirty. Honestly, I'm not even sure what to do with myself. I want to thank Natasha, but she isn't in her apartment and neither is Clint, so I try the common living room.

Steve looks to be the only occupant of the room and is sitting on one side of the couch drawing on his sketch pad.

"Hey Steve." I smile.

He turns his head halfway back to look at me as he greets me back. "Hey." He says quietly.

"Whatcha doing?" I ask, thinking it slightly odd that he isn't in the gym this time of day that he normally would be.

He grins at me and holds one finger up to his lips before pointing toward the other end of the couch. I walk around to the front of him to see my self hired assistant apparently asleep, still in all of her professional wear except her shoes, which are neatly laid beside Steve's feet. Her head rests on a throw pillow at the other end of the couch and her bare feet are up on Steve's lap. He has his sketch pad balanced on his free knee and is drawing her sleeping face with a charcoal pencil. The drawing, though not complete, is already impressive in it's likeness to his subject.

"That's really impressive, Steve." I complement quietly, even though I know very well by know that Natasha always wakes up, at least partially, to anything that moves or makes a sound anyway. She just doesn't show it. For all I know she could be wide awake right now. I learned that the day she almost gave Happy a heart attack in my office.

"Thanks."

I notice that Natasha's angle from Steve is a little provocative. When I leaned over to inspect the drawing closer and turned to look at Natasha from Steve's angle I see that quite a bit of her cleavage is showing from the way her white button up shirt is settled. I smile at Steve again as I straighten myself up. That must be why he only sketched her face. Good, sweet Steve. If it were anyone else, except for maybe Clint, I would immediately go to cover her up better. Especially Tony. But I know Steve won't look. He's too much a gentleman. Still, I do move over to the oversized chair in the corner and retrieve the thin throw blanket hanging over the side. I'm really covering her up more for Steve's comfort than her own though, honestly. Besides, she could be cold, I reason. I'm careful not to move her hair at all though, or do anything that could mess up how she's posed for him.

I can tell by Steve's grateful smile at me as I go to sit in the chair caddy corner to them that I was right. "So why aren't you doing your workout?"

Steve shrugs his shoulders and flicks his eyes down to the red head. "I was eating lunch with Clint and Nat walked in. She seemed to be doing a lot better today, but looked about ready for a nap. I knew that Clint wanted to get in some target practice, so I asked if she'd stay for a movie. It just went off about ten minutes ago."

I take notice of how he called her Nat. A few weeks ago that never would have flown with her. It's surprising how she's trusting the super soldier enough to not only let him touch her, but sleep with her feet up in his lap.

_Good for her. _I think. She still hasn't warmed up like that to Tony, Bruce, or Thor but it hasn't escaped my notice that she's letting Steve and I get closer and closer (slowly) without looking as though she may be contemplating killing us. While I can attribute her letting me in as purely an act of persistence on my part, it doesn't surprise me that it's Steve who's also making some headway. He is respectful and gives her space, but also needs a lot of help himself in becoming part of the twenty first century. Natasha often is the one to take on that teaching role, whether it's showing him how to hold his chopsticks or helping him delete all the porn sites Tony programmed to pop up every time he opens his computer. Whenever it happens, he'll bring his laptop to her and awkwardly ask if she'll fix it without ever explaining what 'it' is, and she'll take it from him and erase it all with a few key strokes. She doesn't talk to him about it much, and isn't the type to patiently walk him through anything, but somehow she's good at helping him anyway.

I wait until he holds up the now completed drawing of her and nod. "Were you an artist before the war?" I wonder aloud.

"No." He chuckles, looking amused. "Nah, I just liked to do it as a hobby. I had severe asthma and couldn't play any sports and we didn't have all these high tech gadgets to play around with inside. "Do you think Clint will like it though? I couldn't think of anything to buy him and Christmas is coming up."

He passes the paper over to me and I look at it in detail. "Of course he will! It looks just like her."

A slight blush creeps up from Steve's neck to color his cheeks. "I think she looks happier when she's sleeping."

I nod, knowing what he means. The thing is that I'm almost positive she isn't actually asleep by now. If my entrance hadn't woken her, this conversation would, no matter how quiet we're being. It's probably one of the things instilled in her as an assassin. Since it's awkward talking to someone about a person who is right there listening, I go ahead and help her to decide to 'be awake'.

"Natasha, if I tell you Tony's new passcode for programming JARVIS, will you come to work with me?" I keep my tone casual and refrain from laughing at Steve's knit together eyebrows and confused features.

"Might as well. I got nothing better to do." Natasha replies without ever opening her eyes or moving a single muscle apart from her mouth.

The silent question hanging in the air from Steve- _has she been awake and listening this whole time? _Is so obvious that I'm sure the spy can guess it even with her eyes shut.

I just nod at him. "Great. Is the pay you were getting as Natalie still alright?"

"How about you just keep giving me the free rent, boss, and we'll call it even?" This time she does open her eyes and sit up to look at me, face and voice slightly jovial.

"Your apartment is already you and Clint's. Permanently. The empty one is too. You legally own it. I couldn't take it away from you even if I wanted to." I reply, wondering if Tony never told them this. I wouldn't put it past him.

"Mine is too?" Steve asks, suddenly very interested int the conversation.

I nod. "Tony was supposed to tell you all when you moved in. It was his idea." That's Tony for you: rude, sarcastic, narcissistic, but loving to the very core. He also tends to be surprisingly modest with taking credit for his big gestures when I would least expect it. Which reminds me... "By the way, Steve, are the boys okay downstairs in the lab? Tony didn't get hurt, did he?"

"No, no." Steve assures. "It was minor. It only lasted a few minutes. The lab got pretty messed up though. I feel bad for the cleaning ladies."

I grimace a little at the thought. Not because of what they'll have to go through today, but what they have to go through practically every day to keep this place up. Happy puts them through more security checks coming in and out of work than most airports require and then they have to contend with Tony's messes. It's no wonder we've gone through eight this year.

The days pass by a little easier after that, with everyone on the team falling into their own new little niche. Bruce and Tony keep working on the serum without any other major catastrophes. Natasha begins joining me in the office every morning to help me run the company. She only works half a day, but the office has never been run more efficiently. Everything is perfectly organized.

No more giant stacks of paper or midnight working hours.

I'm able to leave before five p.m. daily as a result and am beginning to feel like I may actually have time to properly plan my wedding.

As much as I'm hoping the serum works for my friend's sake, I'm dreading her leaving the secretary position. It's going to be so much worse now that I know what I'll be missing. Regardless, I am definitely going to be hiring another assistant if she does leave. Maybe I can even bribe Natasha into training them if I'm lucky.

Clint meets up with us for lunch around 12:30 (as I now actually have time to take a proper one) and then takes Natasha back to their room for a nap. While she's asleep he goes into the gym to spare with Steve and then, later, Steve meets up with the redhead to guilt her into taking slow walks with him through the city or the park.

I have no idea what they could be discussing on those walks, but I've noticed that Steve always returns from them a little happier than when he left.

We all eat dinner together just about every night, except for Thor, who had to go back to Asgard again. This time he took Jane with him. Usually this mostly consists of Tony doing things to purposely annoy Natasha until she is flustered enough to switch to Russian and then reply with random Russian words that he just learned. I can't understand either of them, but judging by how hard all the other boys always laugh at the exchange, it must be fairly ridiculous.

Bruce does a special type of yoga in his apartment with her after dinner most days if she isn't too sleepy...a lot of breathing techniques and Brazilian stuff that I don't understand. He says it's the same stuff that helps him to stay calm. But the night time screaming stops and I think it's because of whatever it is that he's teaching her.

It's a precarious kind of schedule we all keep and only a temporary one at that. It's also very much like a family schedule. We all depend on each other for our days to run smoothly and that makes it different than how it was before Natasha came home sick.

Before all this I never would have imagined Tony to set aside all of his million and one egotistical obsessions to work day and night as a team with Bruce to achieve something for someone else. It makes me love my fiancee even more than I already did.

I never would have imagined Steve to be brave enough to start venturing out of the tower into the 21st century when it isn't out of necessity. Now he's going out everyday with the Russian and coming home with all sorts of new information, things to talk about, and occasionally even sketches of flowers that weren't around in the forties from the park (most of the varieties we have nowadays are genetic cross breeds and were engineered, according to Steve). I think he may finally be starting to adapt to this millennia.


	23. 4 Tony

The Norseman is almost as confused as the Captain as I watch the Black Widow attempt to walk them through internet shopping. I'm making myself a sandwich in the kitchen area, but it's a good view of the awkward scene.

"Can't we just go to the mall?" Steve asks. Again.

The russian rolls her eyes at him and keeps typing.

"Please?" Captain America begs. Natasha sighs and I can tell that she's reframing from everything her instincts are whispering for her to do to force him to shut up. Still, I know she's only doing it for his own good. He's got to learn this stuff. That's forty percent of why I keep pranking his computer anyway. What's he going to do when no one's around here to do this sort of thing for him? Most of the rest is just for my own amusement, admittedly, although a it's also a little bit because spidey acts almost human whenever Steve has a problem he needs help with.

"I'm too tired today. You really want a bunch of screaming fangirls who saw you on the news jumping up and down on your arm and asking for autographs like they did the other day in central park?"

A quick blush spreads over his cheeks and his blue eyes look back to the screen. "It just seems so impersonal this way."

I start laughing at Steve as he turns to look at me from the living room area and watch silently as Natasha's quick fingers retrieve one of her throwing knives from where it's sheath must be taped under her seat. She flings it without turning around to see my face, but it still hits the wall an inch or so to the right of my head.

I can see Happy in the corner near the door, frozen in my place, not even daring to blink. He has that look of _I know what that woman can do and there is no way I'm drawing any attention to myself after everything that's happened around here in the last few weeks. _

That was close, but I'm not buying that she was really aiming for me. She loves to throw things. She never hits me with anything that could be lethal though. She's just trying to scare me. Under all that blood red hair and cold russian stares she's a marshmallow.

"Seriously?!" I ask, incredulously. "How many of these things do you have anyway? What do you have like an army of little gnomes producing these for you at night?"

"Shoes." Steve corrects.

I chuckle.

"What?" Now Natasha is the one who sounds confused.

"The fairytale. It's shoes. The gnomes made shoes at night." Steve earnestly explains.

Me, Thor, and Red all look at him with our eyebrows raised. Apparently they hadn't heard that one as a kid either. I guess they don't teach that in Russia...or space. They certainly didn't in boarding school.

"Anyway, what are you interested in buying?" The bored, no-nonsense tone in the red head's voice makes it clear that she isn't interested in getting off topic. No nonsense. Of course, that might just be her only real facial expression.

"Christmas presents." The blonde replies simply.

"I know that. That's what you said when you first asked me to go get them with you. Who for specifically?"

"Everyone."

Natasha blinks, takes in a calming breath, and turns to Thor. "And you?"

"I am told it is custom to exchange tokens of friendship with family and friends around the large slaughtered tree. Am I right?"

"Yeah, buddy, that's generally the idea." Steve answers, patting the larger man on the shoulder from his place bent down behind Natasha's side.

"Then I will gather these gifts from the Realm Eternal."

I snort and feel my lips curl up in a smile. Gotta love Shakespeare in the Park. He's live-in entertainment. Topping off my sandwich with some mustard, I decide to stay for the show. Anytime you combine Mr. Spangles with Hammertime there's bound to be something worth laughing at, but to my great disappointment, Jane walks in with her luggage (tripping and dropping things everywhere) and Thor rushes to go help her. She's got some science field trip with Selvig somewhere and will be gone until Christmas eve. The thunder god is going back to Asgard in the meantime to do whatever it is that space princes are supposed to do.

Oh well. After a few moments of watching the awkward scientist and Thor trying to pick everything up and Thor subsequently taking all the suitcases from her and carrying them with one hand like a waiter holding a tower of champagne glasses (and, seriously, what is in those things anyway? Even Pepper doesn't pack_ that_ many clothes), they leave with only a wave goodbye.

"So I click the picture of the buggy over here and it will show me what I have already picked out?"

The russian patiently nods to the soldier. I get a kick out of watching them sometimes. I'll never get how the same woman who has barely gone a day without at least pretending to try to injure me since she moved in is so patient with Methuselah.

"Okay, so what if I wanted to order some picture frames, how do I look for those?"

I sigh. Never mind, this is going to be boring. I'd be better off just taking my lunch and finding my headphones. Pepper's already done most of our shopping, not that I know what half of it is. I know she bought Thor some pajamas because I picked that one out. After all those middle of the night misery meetings I got sick of seeing all of the- the...Norseness in just his boxers. Plus, I'm doing Clint, myself, and every other guy here a favor. No one needs their women seeing that. It's an unfair comparison since he's not even human anyway.

I'm awesome, I know. I'm an incredibly handsome and alluring billionaire playboy superhero. But I'm still only human; not a god.

When I first decided to learn russian after the plane ride to the Red Room I just tried looking up the basics on the internet. It turns out that almost all of those sights were dedicated to men trying to learn russian for their mail order brides though. I am all up for messing with Natasha because, really, that's just what we do- threaten and mess with each other. It keeps things interesting. But I can't imagine having a circumstance in which it would be helpful to know the phrases those sites were offering, like Наша любовь не пройдёт с годами or _our love won't disappear with years_ and I can't imagine having much use for phrases like Kagda ya vperveeye vstretil tebya ya srazu ponyal: eto navsegda or _when i met you for the first time I understood: it's forever. _

I ended up just going the easy route and buying levels one through five of the Rosetta Stone program instead. Of course, so far all that's taught me is how to say my colors, greetings, and numbers, so it's almost as useless. Plus, as it's designed for people with average intelligence, so it goes at a glacially low speed for me.

Still, I settle into the couch with my laptop and open up the rosetta stone program, repeating back a bunch of random russian words for the pictures it gives me.

Доброе утро "Dobraye ootro" _Good morning._

Пока "Paka" _Bye_

I have headphones on to better listen, so I don't hear my beautiful strawberry blonde former assistant turned executive come in.

"What are you doing?" She asks, cutting straight to the point, as she shuts the front door behind her and saunters over make my way.

I quickly take off the headphones and shut the laptop, feeling a little embarrassed. "Nothing. Or, well, I...just expanding my horizons, you know, learning russian."

"Uh huh." With a sly grin, my girl settles in next to me on the couch and I inhale the nice smell of that perfume I bought her. I can't remember the name of it, but it's a thousand dollars a bottle, so it stands to reason that it smells heavenly. "How is the formula going?"

"Bruce is downstairs slaving away on it. Said he thought he was onto something earlier. I figured I'd give him a head start before joining in later."

"Do you think its going to work? You two have been working at it for weeks."

I know she's only asking out of concern, but I can't help but feel annoyed. I'm up and away from her body in a second and standing up in front of her instead. "Yeah, well, we're doing the best we can. This isn't some cakewalk. I know how high the stakes are! Don't you think I know what's going to happen if I screw this up?"

By now she's up too, facing me. "Tony, nobody expects you to do the impossible." She states calmly in that voice she gets when she's trying to talk me out of being unreasonable.

"Well I do! That's what I do Pepper! I invent elements and energy sources and Ironman suits. I'm not going to let some stupid formula from Dr. Mengele's handbook stump me! I'm not going to give up on Spidey!" I'm yelling at this point and I know I'm not being fair. I know I shouldn't be yelling at Pepper like this but I'm just so damned frustrated. It shouldn't be like this! If one of my friends are in trouble I should be able to go swoop them up in my suit, or blast someone, or just go be the damned hero I'm used to being and fix it.

And I can't.

It's eight and a half days and three more vials of Steve's blood (he's been voluntarily giving us sample after sample to help us out in secret for weeks) before that changes and, when it happens, I find myself unable to do anything but simply stare at it along with Bruce.

It's complexity is genius, but we cracked it.

We reinvented the super soldier serum. Not Steve's version exactly. Natasha's was always a little different and less effective than his, but we still were able to use the samples Capsicle gave to figure out the missing bits from the burnt file.

It's perfect.

"I think we just made the best present Natasha's going to get this year." Bruce comments, still in awe of what we just accomplished as he stares at the vial I'm holding of the crystal clear liquid.

"Well, it's not like anyone will be surprised about that; we are awesome after all." I joke.

Bruce chuckles and nods. "We're going have to infuse this surgically." He comments. I know that already, of course. I'll have a surgical team called in tomorrow. It'll take a fortune to get the best medical team to fly in on Christmas day, but whatever. I'll get Pepper to convince them. It's what she's good at. If she can convince me to take down my favorite Ironman posters out of the front entrances of the tower, and get Natasha to play her little secretary, and get Clint to actually talk to her for more than a minute at a time, she can convince anybody to do anything.

"What's say we get this into the biofreezer container and wrap this puppy?" I ask, trying to remember where Pepper keeps the wrapping paper. Did she do the wrapping, or did she pay for that to be pre-done this year? I can't remember.

He retrieves the small cylindrical freezer, about the size of my forearm. It will keep the serum safe for days, so we'll be fine to wrap it that way and give it to Spidey until tomorrow. "Sounds good. I have some left over gift wrap in my apartment."

I smile, glad Bruce knows what he's doing since I don't. I hope he's better at wrapping shit than I am. I tried to wrap Pepper's birthday present a couple years ago and the result was far from pretty. The platinum diamond necklace I bought for Pepper I'll be giving her tonight I just got one of the maids to wrap.

Bruce checks his watch and starts heading to the hallway elevator. "What time did Pepper say Christmas dinner is?"

"JARVIS?" I redirect the question.

"6 P.M. sir. As it is 6:05 now, you are already late."

I swallow hard, knowing how much Pepper is going to hate me until she knows why. Both of us pick up the pace.

"Let's just hand it to her. She won't care." I suggest.

Bruce smiles knowingly. "You go. I'll get it taken care of and be there in a few minutes."

I clap a hand to his shoulder and smile. "You did good man. I couldn't have figured this out without you." Then I take off to face the music.

The elevator goes painfully slowly on my way up like it only does when I'm running late somewhere.

I think it knows.

I swear it's been tampered with to do that. Creepy russian. I bet she programmed Jarvis to do that like she programmed the sprinklers to spray me or for Jarvis to tattle tale to Pepper every time I hack into Steve's laptop.

Finally, the light beeps onto the correct floor and I step out into all the Christmas decorations and sound of Dean Martin singing_ Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let is Snow!_ over the top notch sound system.

I'm not dressed in my suit like I should be. Pepper's in her gorgeous holiday cocktail dress that makes me want to lick her up and down like the candy cane in the drink she's holding. Her hair is done up and perfect. Not a hair is out of place and she looks just as beautiful and perfect as always. She's sipping at her cocktail and talking to Happy and is oblivious that I'm here yet and I should tell her I'm here, but I just can't take my eyes off her long enough to move.

How the hell did I get so damn lucky?

There's no way I deserve that woman. She smiles at something and her white teeth glint in the twinkly lights from the tree behind her.

Then there's a firm hand on my shoulder and I notice Spangles standing beside me, smiling and glancing over to follow my gaze at Pepper. "You're a lucky man, Stark."

I look at him and smile, before turning back towards my fiancee. "Yeah. I know."

Then I finally look around to see what else in going on in the common room. Thor is standing on the other side of the tree with Jane, dressed up very nicely in a suit Jane must have bought him. Jane is in a crimson dress explaining the reasoning for the tree to him. Her assistant Darcy is also dressed up, for her, in a vintage looking blue dress that went to just above her knees...and a pair of old sneakers and one bud for her ipod stuck into her right ear. Happy is in his nicer navy suit. Clint is in a black suit, settled into the window seat and petting his partner-wife-girlfriend-fuck buddy- or whatever the hell they claimed to be to each other this week's red hair. I sigh as I notice she's napping again, laying down in Clint's lap in her emerald dress with her hair down and curly. It's getting longer again like it was when I first met her.

I know Pepper isn't happy she finally sees me in my t-shirt and jeans. Then Bruce comes in too, still in his lab coat and I can see the wheels turning in her head as she puts it together. Without saying a word she drags us both back outside with the door shut behind us in less than ten seconds.

"Tony?" I can practically see the question she's too afraid to ask hanging off her lips.

I nod as the big guy smiles and holds up the crudely wrapped cylinder.

"Oh my God!" She exclaims, throwing her arms around me and hugging me tight before looking at Bruce. "You figured it out? You got it?"

"We got it." He replies simply.

Pepper's face lights up brighter than the string lights all over the tree and we're both smiling with her. She doesn't even comment about how we probably both smell like chemicals and BO from having locked ourselves down there in the lab for two days straight. She just kisses me, hugs Bruce, and walks back inside with the package. No one notices her inconspicuously tucking it far back under the tree behind everything else.

"Okay everyone! Dinner!" She calls as if nothing had happened. She's getting awfully good at acting. Maybe she's spending a little too much time with her assistant these days.

Katniss wakes Red and we all fill up our plates and chitchat about this and that. Bruce and I go out of our way to avoid mentioning anything about the enhancers though. The timing was too perfect to spoil the surprise now. It's nice just having everyone here together in one piece doing something so normal.

Halfway through the turkey I decide to liven things up a bit though, doing what I have been for the last few weeks off and on to rile the triple impostor up. She and Clint are having some sort of silent conversation again. I'm going to figure out how to decode that one of these days, but for now I'll just stick with the russian.

"Я знаю, ты возился с лифтом" _I know you tinkered with the elevator._

The red head smiles a little too innocently at me. "Ничего себе, посмотрите, кто изучает их России" _Wow, look who's been studying their russian._

"Я быстро учатся" _ I learn fast._

She turns to Clint and winks and smiles again, a little fiendishly. That particular look never fails to make me a bit nervous. "Если вы действительно научились быстро вы бы знать, что это не просто лифты Я программирования." This time she speaks a little quicker and I have trouble understanding her, so I turn to Clint, who just smiles at me and shakes his head a little.

Then Steve translates "She said that, if you really learned fast, you would know by now that it isn't just the elevators she's been programming."

Um, excuse me? What? What else has she done? "Как что?"_ Like what?_

"Oh, you'll find out one day." The creepy assassin practically purrs. Great. But it did get her talking out loud, which was the real point to the accusation anyway.

"You're just trying to scare me. You didn't reprogram anything."

"You think I'm tricking you?" She asks, amusement written across her face.

"Um, yeah! You tricked the god of tricks...Plus you're...you. You're eyes have secrets, your hair probably has secrets, hell, you're like Fury...your secrets have secrets."

"Hic sum ratus satis his diebus patulus." She drones out, rolling her eyes, face all business.

Bruce chuckles. Maybe he understood it.

"What was that? Latin again?" I demand, a little exasperated.

Cupid starts laughing from beside Red. "You're never going to be able to catch up on all her languages. I'd give it up."

"Well everyone's done here." Pepper breaks in, placing a hand at my knee under the table and squeezing it a bit. "It's time for presents!"

We all get up and mosey over toward the tree. Jane takes one look at it and just shakes her head. "Maybe next year we should do secret santa instead. I can barely see the tree for all the gifts."

"Isn't that the point?" I challenge back.

Pepper shoots me a disapproving look.

Happy digs out the first gift bag from under the tree and hands it to Pepper with a big grin. I laugh when she pulls it out and it's a taser.

"Hey, those are great!" Darcey calls over to Pepper, who's sitting across the room as she digs something out from her purse "I have one too!"

"Just- just try to be a little more careful with it than Darcy." Jane adds, glancing up to Thor almost apologetically. There's probably a story there, but I don't want to put any ideas that will result in me getting tased in Pep's head.

Next, Darcy gives Steve a Blue-Ray copy of Forest Gump. "It covers everything from the fifties to the nineties." She shrugs, as though it's no big deal, but she sneaks several more glances at him as he flips the case over and reads the summary.

I end up with a lot of gag gifts since I've got everything already and a really nice framed portrait of me and Pepper together that Steve must have drawn without us noticing. In the colored portrait she's sitting beside me and we're smiling and I'm playing with the engagement ring on her hand. Pepper loved that one, but she really got excited when she opened the envelope the Widow gave her. It was a simple note that read:

_This Certificate is good for two weeks of work free vacation time. Take a honeymoon. Leave your laptop and phone. I'll handle everything here._

_ -Your friend,_

_ Natasha_

I haven't seen Pepper so excited since we got engaged as that note made her. It almost makes me want to hug the assassin along with her. I don't. I mean, I'm not stupid. I know trying will just result in pain for me. But it's nice to think that Pepper and I will really be able to enjoy each other without the weight of the company on our shoulders (okay, okay, mostly on Pepper's shoulder's) on the honeymoon. We still haven't decided where we're going for it yet.

Thor gives Red a cool knife from Asgard with jewels embedded all over the ornate golden handle. It is beautiful, but the adoration in her eyes as she admires it is creepy and more than a little intimidating. Spidey gives Happy several boxes of Good n' Plenty's and Mike and Ike's held together with a ribbon, at which he loses almost all color in his face and Pepper almost falls over laughing.

I'll have to get her to explain that one to me later, I guess.

My last gift is a 347 page bindered manual from Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

"Security upgrades for your suit and the tower. We wrote out a comprehensive list and diagrams of everything that could be at risk and how to fix it." Clint explains quietly with a shrug at my puzzled look.

"Almost comprehensive. I have a couple things I'm not telling." Natasha adds. I snort. A couple probably means a dozen at least knowing her, but it's a really nice thought anyway. I'll read through it the next time I head to the bathroom. They are masters at infiltration and assassination, so there is probably some decent pointers in there somewhere. Now that I don't have to obsess over getting our teammate back on the team I'll have time to do my tinkering.

I give Bruce some new science equipment that I know he's been wanting. Pepper gives Darcy the newest Ipod and Jane a certificate for generous funding to her studies. She also gives Thor several pairs of designer pajamas, along with a copy of _The Complete Set of Shakespeare_ I threw in at the last minute. Clint's gift is some new arrows I designed for him a while back that freeze any target solid they hit instantly.

He loves them so much that he ends up freezing the leftover turkey while he's trying it out.

Overall, everyone makes out pretty well, but for me, Pep, and Bruce, there's only one gift under the tree that we're really thinking about. Silently, Bruce hands the assassin the final Christmas gift of the night.

I'm not entirely sure of what reaction to expect. She isn't one to shout for joy like me or cry like Pepper. We all watch with baited breaths as her fingers quickly and efficiently strips the cylinder of it's sparkly blue, snowman themed wrapping paper that has way too much tape.

But it's Clint that reacts first as she stares down at the metal cylinder and snaps her head up to look at Bruce, who's standing by the window and then across the room to where I am with Pepper. Suddenly the whole room is silent enough to here a pen drop.

"Is this..." Her voice drifts off at Pepper's huge smile and Bruce's nod.

"We didn't hold it back; we just finished it a couple hours ago. It's why we were late." Bruce quickly explains. It's a wise move on his part, though it never occurred to me that she might think that.

"Merry Christmas!" I exclaim.

She just remains in her place, carefully holding onto the cylinder, but Clint jumps up from his place smiling and practically yelling how great it is almost instantly.

"When can you administer it?" The calm professionalism in her voice almost shocks me, but then I remember who this is. Nothing shocks her.

"I'll make some calls. It has to be surgically administered and I'll need a medical team here to help. But I'm sure I can bribe somebody to get here by tomorrow afternoon." I assure her, nonchalantly. Just details.

The spy nods from her place.

"It's still a dangerous procedure." Bruce warns.

Natasha nods and remains silent for several long, quiet moments before gracefully standing up and walking up to me, looking me straight in the eye. She isn't crying like Pepper might in that situation. She doesn't waver from her usual solid strong state at all.

But she does say "thank you" in such a low tone that it is almost a whisper.

Acting on instinct, I reach out and hug her.

And the next thing I feel is my butt making contact with the floor, the killer Russian woman standing above me with a slight smirk on her face. "I said thank you."

"You're welcome." I whimper out as Pepper (did I mention she is sooo much better than creepy Russians?) bends down to help me up.

Red also goes over to thank Bruce who, wisely, only shakes her hand in response.

Darcy turns the music up a bit and Jane tries to teach Thor how to how to sing along with Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer. Then Pepper is kissing me and I don't pay much attention to what is happening other than us.

The night progresses to dancing to old Christmas carols and stupider new ones that have a better beat. I dance with Pepper and Thor twirls Jane around. Clint and Natasha embarrass everyone else with their near professional abilities. Darcy takes turns dancing with Bruce on the slower songs he can handle and Happy on the quicker ones that could invoke a fast enough heartbeat to draw out the Hulk.

Everyone dances, except Steve, who opts instead to just start gathering up all the discarded blue and red and green and white wrapping paper littering the floor into a giant plastic trashbag.

Darcy tries to get him to dance with her, but Spangles just gives her a sad, wistful smile and shakes his head.

"He's saving that." I overhear Natasha explain to the college student quietly after Darcy's second failed attempt.

"For who?" Darcy asks, confused.

Natasha smiles. "I've got a couple of ideas."

"I thought you didn't believe in love." I accuse, mostly just to bug her. I know she does or else Clint would be dead by now.

"I don't." She shakes her head and replies seriously. "It's херня...but maybe I do care about you idiots...a little."

"Can't you just shut up and not ruin the moment for five seconds? I know how you feel because I see it. I see it every time you look at Hawk-boy and, you know what?" I smirk at her knowing I'm calling her out on her shit. She's hiding her annoyance pretty well, but I still know I saw a flash of something like fear or anger in her eyes before she could change her facial features to blank. Either she's slipping or I'm getting to know her way too well.

"I see it when you let grandpa rant to you about the good ol' days for hours on end too and when you pretend you got something else to look at when Pep's mother henning you. You try to cover up how much you eat up every second of that crap. You love us. You love us all and you're going to punch me for saying this, but I think you love me too, 'cause I'm awesome and because now you know that I'd dedicate my unbelievably precious and expensive time saving your ass."

I brace myself for the pain that's surely coming.

Instead, I get Spidey's cool, pretty smile, and an almost seductive look in her big, alluring emerald eyes as she calls out some russian phrase I haven't learned yet to Jarvis and I get the sprinkler again.

"Um...is that supposed to happen?" Darcy asks Pepper as she halts her dance with Happy at the sight of me getting attacked by a ceiling sprinkler.

Pepper gives her a strained smile. "Welcome to the Avenger's Tower."


	24. 5 Clint

I've been wearing my grin all night long. Tony calling Nat out just made it a little wider. It's exactly everything she tries to avoid. She hates letting anyone close enough to learn her tells, but that interaction assures me that Tony does, in fact, have her number. I've known that Steve and Pepper have had it for a while now. Bruce and Thor aren't far back either.

After all these years it isn't just me and Nat anymore. The lone wolves turned partners turned best friends have a family now. I never thought I'd be okay with sharing her with anyone, but this...this makes me honestly happy. If I get shot there are people out there for her. People that won't leave her alone. It's a nice assurance in our line of work.

Speaking of which, I'll need to call Fury tomorrow. He'll want to know we're coming back.

The Christmas Story is on the T.V. and everyone's watching it, soaked in the blueish light and in a giant tangled mess throughout the living room.

_"Are you kidding? Stick my tongue to that stupid pole? That's dumb!"_

_"That's 'cause you know it'll stick!"_

_"You're full of it!"_

_"Oh yeah?"_

_"Yeah!"_

_"Well I double-DOG-dare ya!"_

Nat gives one of her breathy little laughs from her place cuddled up in my lap, her head resting against my shoulder. Neither of us has ever seen the movie before. We're usually on assignment in some hell hole or another to help let the agents who actually have families be home with them. I ghost my fingers up and down over the skin of my Tasha'a upper arm and take my gaze away from the giant flat screen for a few seconds to look at the people around me. Darcy is beside us, sucking on the end of a candy cane and totally absorbed in the movie playing. Jane is on the other side of her trying to explain the movie to Thor, who looks very confused at something. Of course, with him, that something could be almost anything. Steve is stretched out on the floor in front of the couch next to Bruce, who may or may not be asleep a couple feet away. Pepper's body guard, Happy, is sitting in the easy chair laughing at the kid on the T.V. with his tongue stuck to the pole. Pepper and Tony are somewhere...I turn my head as much as I can without moving the part of my shoulder Nat's head is resting against and find them back in the kitchen area. They aren't paying attention to the movie at all, but somehow I don't think they care about missing the funny part. The intensity with which they're making out is probably enough to block out anything else to them but each other.

So this is what Christmas with family is like. It's really, really nice.

"Что вы думаете?" _What are you thinking about?_ Nat whispers in my ear in Russian, not because she's trying to disguise the question from anyone, almost everyone in the room can understand her anyway, but simply because she's relaxed enough to revert back to her native tongue.

I softly kiss the top of her curly hair. "Nothing. I'm just really happy." I reply in my own native language of english. We don't have to speak in the same language to understand each other anyway. She speaks several that I don't know a word of and I always understand her anyway.

"Сентиментальный идиот" _Sentimental idiot, _she accuses even as she snuggles in closer to me. I smile and shake my head at her.

"I'm your idiot though." I mumble back through my grin and I swear I can feel her roll her eyes even if I can't see her do it.

The night melts away like a sweet dessert I want to savor forever instead of swallowing. I'm expecting Nat to fall asleep in my lap during the movie and then to carry her back to our bed, but she surprises me by remaining awake. Maybe she secretly felt like I did and doesn't want to miss anything. Peaceful, blissfully normal nights like this don't happen to people like us often. Before this, the only Christmases Nat's ever celebrated have been with me out on assignment and my childhood was shitty enough that I didn't exactly have many warm holiday family memories to look back on either. Dad's drinking habits made sure of that.

"Do you remember that first Christmas we have in China?" I ask her on our walk back towards out apartment.

She chuckles. "You mean the one where you tried to dress up like Santa Claus because I told you I'd never done Christmas and I thought you were a fat enemy thug?"

I laugh at the memory. It took weeks for all the bruises from that little misunderstanding to fade from my neck. I guess sneaking down the chimney in a costumed fat suit with a big sack wasn't the best idea. It wasn't as bad as what had happened at halloween the following year, but it still probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, although the padding did ease the blows that ensued with Nat woke up and saw me.

"I always wondered, how did you even get that suit in China anyway? You didn't bring it with you."

"I'll never tell you that one." I joke, the truth is just a lot of simple fore planning. I had it shipped in and stored weeks ahead of time.

"I'm getting my enhancements back tomorrow." She states, outwardly confident, flat toned, as though it was simply an appointment I may need to be reminded of off some obscure work calendar. I know her well enough to know that means she's nervous as hell.

We get to the door of our apartment and she leans forward to open it (I had it reprogrammed to allow her access weeks ago, although the lock has never kept her out regardless). "I know." I reply. I don't know what else there is to say. I'm happy for her. I'm relieved that she is going to be okay. But I'm also a little worried about what it means for me. It's selfish...I know, but it's been nice just having her all to myself without the constant threat of one of us getting shot or sent out to separate missions. It's been nice having her napping with her head on my lap and knowing that we have nothing else to do for the day than simply to be together. It's been nice being able to kiss her whenever I want instead of having to watch some lowlife assume he has the right. I've had to watch her make out with more creeps than I care to count for information, poising all the while to shoot them from my lookout point. Even after she gives the signal and I get to shoot them dead, it's never satisfying enough just to kill them.

Will she stay with me after tomorrow? Will we go back to S.H.I.E.L.D. together? Will she demand her things moved back to the empty apartment that used to be hers in the tower? Will she make me wait until we're undercover again to sleep holding her?

Suddenly my mood isn't so cheery anymore.

I go to sit on the small grey couch for no real reason other than I'm not quite ready to go to bed yet and surrender to tomorrow. It's Christmas Eve and I want to enjoy every last second of it left. I'm surprised when Natasha joins me, sitting down to face me in my lap with one knee on each side of my thighs. Her green eyes peer into mine from only a few inches away and her hands settle on my shoulders and the back of my neck. Her curly red hair is close enough for me to smell her shampoo, though I have no clue what it is. It doesn't really matter because her hair always smells wonderful to me, even when it smells like sweat and gunpowder. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't need to. We've been together too long, know each other too well, and she knows how to comfort me without the words.

I settle my hands at her back and her waist and just take the moment to look at her- her silky locks of her that contrasted so brightly with her perfect porcelain skin, her thick luscious lips, and her eyes that make up my favorite shade of green. She only knows about it because of a concussion I gained in a fight in Montenegro. I don't remember the conversation at all, but there was video footage we had to go through and wipe clean as part of the cover up later back at base. In it, I was loopy as all hell and staggering every which a way and Nat was just doing her best to keep me walking semi-straight with my arm slung over her shoulder for support. We had been partners for probably about two years at the time and she'd been asking me a bunch of questions on the way back to our safe house to help me stay awake.

_"What's your name?"_

_"Hawkeye? No, wait, Clinton?"  
_

_"How many buildings are over there?" She pointed in a direction where a three houses dwelled isolated from everything else around them._

_"Twelve. I feel sleepy now. Can't I just sit? I just want to sit for a while."  
_

_"No." She replied firmly, tugging my body forward. "What's your favorite number?"_

_"Umm...I don't know. Three? Is three a good number? Or eighty seven? Or negative twelve. Or-" I sound almost drunk and totally unable to make up my mind. _

_"Okay!" She snaps, the irritation in her voice is obvious as she struggled to come up with something else to ask me that was generic enough to stay professional. "What's...what's your favorite color then?" _

_"Green like your eyes." Was my immediate and unflinching response. Natasha stopped walking mid-step and very nearly lets me fall to the pavement on accident, staring at me for a long moment with surprise and confusion plastered all over her face. Within a few seconds she started walking again as if it were nothing. _

_I remember turning to her in our office at that point of the video, mortified and worried that I'd given myself completely away to her. Would she request a new partner? Report me for misconduct? Not that I particularly cared about that. Her face turned to meet me too, much to my surprise. I'd been expecting her to go blank or ignore it to my face, instead I get a coy grin._

_"So you like green?" She asked through a smirk._

_"It's a nice color...and I like trees and...grass...and...stuff." I struggle, fiddling awkwardly with the pages of the clipboard in my hand._

_She smirk deepened as she turned her eyes back to the video. "Sure."_

_"Well, what's your favorite color, red?" I guessed, trying to take the conversation anywhere but her eyes and only digging myself further into the hole. _

_She laughed full out then, never giving me my answer. _

I grin, staring into those same emerald eyes from only a few inches away now. No point in denying anything anymore.

I lean forward slowly, closing the distance between us and kiss her fully on the lips. Every moment of waiting, every snag in our partnership, anything and everything that led up to this woman right here, right now, straddling my lap and kissing me...well, I'd be happy to do it all again. If this is my reward, I'd be happy to do almost anything. Her tongue runs over my lower lip as we deepen the kiss and I run my hands freely over the silky fabric of her dress that covers her back. She makes that little moaning sound in the back of her throat once, just barely, and my eyes roll back a little under the lids.

"You taste like peppermint." I say between breaths and kisses.

"Do you like peppermint?" She asks, holding my face and the back of my head in her hands.

"I do now." I groan, kissing her once again on the lips before moving down to her neck.

"I'll buy you some next Christmas." She manages in between gasps as I gently suck on the pulse point on the side of her neck, not enough to leave a mark though. Tony would almost certainly say something dumb and I don't want to have to hold Nat down tomorrow to prevent her from murdering her best friend's fiancee.

"Clint." She gasps and I know what she means because I want the same thing. Wordlessly, I stand up with her, supporting her from underneath as she still can't do it for herself yet. I don't mind carrying her weight at all, but it is a reminder of how sick she's been and whether or not it's really okay for me to be doing something like this when she's still so weak. Maybe I should wait until after tomorrow. Twenty four hours isn't really that bad and the last thing I want to do is take advantage of the woman I love more than my own life.

Still, as I make it to the bed with her and gently place her down onto her side of the mattress I'm not sure I have the self control to stop right now. Not with the way she's looking at me, her eyes dark and sultry and pupils enlarged. No man ever has been able to escape from her when she's wearing that look other than me and even for me it was the hardest test to my self control I've ever been given.

"I have a request."

"What?"

"You said in Paris that it'd be different. I want to know how that feels. I want to know how you feel inside of me."

I nod. "You're feeling well enough?"

She takes her turn to nod. "I'm fine. Tired like always, but other than that I'm okay." Then she laughs a little, albeit somewhat bitterly, leans back and relaxed against the deep purple of the sheets (Tony's idea of a joke when I moved in that I never bothered to change). "I think you're the only person who'd ever ask me something like that."

"I'm the only person you let see you all the time." I retort, leaning over her body and supporting myself on one elbow.

"I never had much of a choice. You saw me whether I wanted you to or not. I just gave up bothering to try after a while. You are annoyingly persistent."

"I'm a sniper." I remind her. Obviously, persistence and patience are kind of my things. "And, in case you haven't noticed, persistence definitely pays off." I motion to how we're laid out with each other.

"Show me your persistence then." She challenges, and it's all I can do not to lose it right then.

"Yes ma'am." I joke and go back to kissing her neck as I work on unzipping the dress from the back. She tried to lift herself up a little from the mattress to help, but eventually I end up reaching up under her and holding her up myself as her physical ability to do that sort of thing is still very compromised. I sit up on my knees and unbutton my shirt once I have the dress off of her, leaving me in my pants and her in just her lacy black underwear.

The sight of her taunt little body never gets old.

Her skin, so soft and silky beneath my hands as I run my hands down her torso, still feels a little feverish. Damn. That operation really isn't coming a day too soon, even if I am going to miss all the downtime just hanging out with my friends.

"You're running hot again." I comment, still leaning forward and kissing at the skin of her cleavage. Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all. Maybe we should wait.

"I didn't realize that playing doctor was part of your love making fantasy." Nat jokes in a clear effort to brush off my concern.

This time I roll my eyes at her. "The last thing I want to do is role play."

"Too bad, I'm very adept at it."

"I'm sure you are." I smile, my mind going to a million and one dirty places all at the same time. None of that is what I want now though as I travel with my kisses lower and and reach behind her to unclasp her bra with the hand that I'm not using to support myself. I take my time, relishing the experience as I know that this will be the last woman I will ever have sex with if I have anything to say about it.

When I go to remove her panties she tugs at my pants in clear annoyance that I still have them on. I chuckle as I quickly remove them and toss them over the side of the bed into the heap already forming from her dress and my shirt on the floor. Her panties quickly follow to finish the pile and then I'm smiling to myself at the knowledge of what I'm about to do to her. I know what she likes now and I put that knowledge to work with my fingers and tongue, grinning at the sound of her sharp intake of breath at the first contact my fingers have with her center. I'm so hard it's almost painful and my physical instinct is to go drive myself straight inside of her, but there is no way that's happening until I give her at least one orgasm first. She might be nowhere close to a virgin, but it is still a first for her in many ways and it's my first time to be with her after eight long years of wanting. I want to draw this out and make it memorable for both of us.

"Are you okay?" I ask after listening to her moan my name through her first orgasm. I need to be inside her and I need to hear her say she's okay before I can, although I'm pretty sure that I'm much more nervous than she is at this point. At least this time I'm not covered in bath suds.

"For the millionth time, Clint, I'm fine!" She snaps, still flushed as I kiss my way back up her body until I'm over top of her.

"We don't have to do this if you're not ready." I remind her as I kiss her flat perfect stomach.

She sits up slowly, using more strength than I knew she had to force me up with her, and then leans me back until she's sitting in my lap, one leg on either side of my hips and her arms holding onto my shoulders. "I'm okay. Clint. You're the one who's traumatized, I think."

"I'm sorry for trying to be sensitive!" I snort. "I have no idea why I'd be worried about you after-"

"My life up to now." She supplies, completely calm, staying right where she is on my lap and looking at me long and hard.

"Yeah."

"Clint, whatever you think, it's really not as bad as all that. They didn't really hurt me."

"That's exactly what worries me, Tasha, that you think that. You weren't there because you wanted to be. You didn't consent to any of that. You were raped repeatedly, Tasha, and that isn't okay."

She shakes her head. "They took my body, Clint, they never could take anything else. I learned before any of that ever even started how to make my mind disconnect. I paid enough attention to learn what I needed to know of course, but most of the time I just mentally checked out and went somewhere else. I barely even felt it. Sometimes I didn't feel it at all. That's what I always do for marks undercover, even now."

My eyes go wide and I can't help but cringe at the whole idea. So all those times I kissed her undercover- Spain, Ireland, Budapest, Geneva, Switzerland and the countless others...all that was a lie. She mentally checked out. She didn't feel me. She didn't care.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't think you could handle it." She professes. Her expression is a perfect mask of cold indifference. I know instantly that its total bullshit and she is terrified.

"No." I practically bark. "No, I know you were with me. You didn't go anywhere." I plead. _Please tell me that it wasn't all an act. I'll die if it was_. I will her to reassure me because the idea that she really and truly can never feel me be with her is absolutely unfathomable.

Frustration overcomes her face. "No, no, no Clint. That wasn't what I was saying." She soothes. Her eyes are begging me to understand and I really am doing my best. "That wasn't what just- fuck it. I'm sorry, listen. I was just trying to tell you that they didn't really hurt me. It wasn't like that-"

I can't stand it anymore and I just kiss her, hard. Immediately she responds to me and kisses me back with every ounce of feeling that she always has. It's not an act. It can't be. "Did you feel that? Were you here with me?" I beg, knowing that I sound every bit as pathetic as I feel.

She runs a comforting hand down by back and holds me to her. "Yes. I always stay when it's you because I don't want to miss it. That's what I'm trying to tell you. It's not the same. You can't hurt me like that. It's impossible."

As if to prove this to me she reaches her arm between us to where I'm pressed against her thigh and smiles up at me almost shyly. "I was afraid you'd be disgusted if you knew, but if you still want me, then please."

"You could never disgust me Tasha." I push some hair to the side that had fallen onto her face and kiss her again, letting her direct whatever happens next. I watch her slowly lay back down and open her legs for me and I know, once and for all, that this really is going to be okay. My Tasha is a strong woman, stronger than I'll ever be, and in that moment I realize she's right.

It was always me who was afraid. She crawled into bed with me off and on for eight and a half years and I was so scared to do the wrong thing I never did anything at all. Hell, it took her getting violated and then so sick that I almost lost her to finally just tell her what I've always wanted.

I use my fingers once again to get her ready for me, though as soon as I touch her I can feel that she's sopping wet already. I feel her hand on me then, directing my manhood to her entrance. We don't bother with condoms, knowing that she can't get carry a child anyway. Not that I have any here. It wasn't something I had been expecting, but I follow along with it nonetheless and slowly slide my way deep inside of her.

And she feels_ so _good that I am honestly want to kick myself for not doing this sooner.

I hear her moan and take that as my cue to start moving, rocking my hips back and forth slowly against hers. She meets my every thrust as best she can and I take her hands in mine and we weave together our fingers as I lean closer down to her and she brings her lips up to kiss me. It's a distracted kiss, both of us so wrapped up in the feeling of finally being connected that we can hardly concentrate on anything else. After a while I can tell that she's getting frustrated with how gentle I'm being, so I speed up and thrust a little harder into her warm tightness.

She smiles at me coyly and I think I'm doing a better job at giving her what she wants until I see the mischievous glint in her eye and she flips us over without warning. From there on out she controls the speed and tempo and I learn quickly that I shouldn't have worried about hurting her. She really does like it rough. I also learn how we must have made Tony feel that night with the cameras because not three or four minutes after she takes over I come so hard inside of her that I nearly black out.

She hadn't even came herself yet and I feel mortified. In my defense it was the first time I've had sex in years, so I know it will only get better, but still I wanted it to be perfect. "Sorry about that." I rush out, my voice slightly more panicked than I'd like. "Just give me a minute-"

"It's fine." She interrupts, pecking a kiss on my cheek and then simply laying down on top of me, apparently exhausted, and still connected. "I owed you a few anyways."

I smile and wrap my arms around her pale naked back, holding her to me. I know any moment she's likely to leave and there isn't a thing I can do about it short of physically holding her down. Natasha Romanoff isn't exactly the cuddling type unless she's really emotionally exhausted and needs me to reassure her that the world is worth living in. She lets out a breathy little laugh and I nearly go into shock at the action, and then she finally looks up at me with her pleasantly surprised and slightly shy green eyes and quickly lurches forward to peck me on the side of my head again. "Thank you." It's a simple statement, but I know that she isn't just thanking me for the sex.

I grin at her. "Any time Tasha."

"You know I'm still not going to marry you or any of that bullshit though. I'm still a bad idea for you Barton."

I flip us over so that she's under me and I have both of her hands pinned down over her head in a heartbeat. It's gentle, much more gentle than it would be if our roles were reversed and she wasn't sick. I make sure that I'm not holding her in any way that she couldn't easily escape from if she really wanted to. Her lips are still a little swollen from when we were kissing earlier and I think that maybe she really is truly an idiot for thinking that it was ever anything but real between us. I lean down to press my lips back down to hers and slowly begin sucking on her bottom lip and finding her hand with mine again. I have a new theory of how to deal with my permanently reluctant partner that evolves using my lips. She kisses me back for a moment, but turns away when I try to deepen it. Undeterred I simply follow my face around to hers and kiss her again anyways, willing her to finally understand.

"You think you're a lot worse for me than you are. You're what gives my life purpose. What could be bad about that?"

"What about the other stuff? What about our jobs?" I squeeze her hand and place another kiss on her lips.

"I need you. I don't care about the other stuff. We'll figure it out."

She turns her head away, clearly on her way to effectively locking herself down emotionally again. I won't let it happen. She gave me her consent already. She doesn't get to just take it back after I make love to her. "Was that you're first real time?" I ask, trying to come up with something I know will distract her from whatever demons are in her head trying to drag her back down with them.

"No." She lies. I grin. I know her tells too well. Her brow furrows once she realizes that I know she's lying.

"Shut up." her voice is still throaty, even though it is annoyed. _Oh yeah...she's definitely enjoying this whether she wants to admit to it or not._

I shake my head at her. "You might have had a lot of men in your life, Tasha, but I'm the only one whose ever gotten the real you." I nibble at the side of her neck a little like I know she likes, finding her pulse point once again and lavishing it with attention as I feel her begin to relax once more, if not completely.

Her free arm comes up to push me away by the chest, but it's not a serious attempt.

"I'll never forget this night for the rest of my life, Tasha." I remove my lips long enough to declare before continuing my activities.

"You're a sentimental idiot, Barton." She accuses unconvincingly.

I flash a huge smile at her and just hold onto her tighter, doing my best to get her to understand how irreversible tonight's actions have been in the kiss. I know it's probably scaring her. After all, it didn't take us eight and a half years to get to this point for nothing. This woman has enough insecurity issues to make the best shrink in the world pull her own hair out. And that's just part of our problems.

Tasha isn't dumb, the problem is just that she's so ridiculously smart that she over thinks _everything_. There have been whole weeks at a time where I've given myself literal migraines just trying to keep up with whatever the hell she's got going on up there. But if she tries to over think this now I swear I'm gonna just keep giving her mind-blowing orgasms however I can manage to until I remove her ability to argue against it.

I think that she can see that I'm thinking that too, judging by the simultaneous alarmed and thrilled expression that crosses her features before she does her best to bury it. Then she shifts and moves to leave and I catch her wrist, wondering if there's any chance I can convince her to just stay here with me. I'm already hard again, just from laying here with her naked, and I use that as an excuse, pressing myself up against her in hopes I can tempt her back.

It works and, without another word, we're going at it again like rabbits. This time I have a better idea of what she wants and I give it to her. Hard. It's missionary again because she's too tired by now for anything else, but I don't mind in the slightest. She comes for me hard too, digging her nails into my skin as she clenches to me, and curses at me with every russian slur she can think of.

"охуеть!" _Holy fuck!_

I grin at her and pound harder, sending her straight into a second orgasm before she's even properly recovered from the first. If she has any plans on leaving this bed tonight I want to make sure she has a full understanding on exactly what she's walking away from first.

As she groans out "Боже мой, Клинт! Иисус!" _Oh my God, Clint! Jesus!_ in her third orgasm, I finally come myself along with her. And it takes us both a while to catch our breaths after that. But as soon as she does, she immediately rolls away from me to stand up and leave. I let out a frustrated breath.

"Why do you keep leaving me, Tasha? I'm not done with you yet!"

Her bright emerald eyes widen a little as she turns back to look at me from her place standing beside the bed. I remain stubbornly lying down and stare up at her, trying not to get distracted by her naked form. She raises her eyebrows at me and her voice does nothing to hide her shock "You want to go again right now?"

I bat the idea around in my brain a moment before dismissing it. That wasn't what I meant, but maybe in a little while if she isn't too sore. "No." I reach up and pull her back down on the bed with bed again for what feels like the millionth time tonight.

"I'm not done with you at all. I'm not done looking at you. I'm not done holding you. I love you and I'm not done, Nat."

I roughly grab her to me and kiss her again, not caring one bit if she's mad at me or not. I'm not one of her marks. She doesn't just get to stand up and walk away like I am. This is it and, dammit, she's going to understand if it means I have to keep her here in bed with me for the next eight years. I'm expecting her to fight me; to hit me maybe or even to try and knock me out. But as I continue to kiss her sweet lips, she surprises me and relaxes into my touch, kissing me back. And then it isn't just me forcing my lips to hers, but both of us melting into each other and then gently letting go for air.

She places an open palm to my chest and looks up at me through her lashes. "I don't want to be done either."

I nod at her, relieved. "Then what do you want? You're sending me a lot of mixed signals here."

She remains in her place sitting propped up against the headboard and lets out a frustrated breath, her tone clearly and passionately frustrated as well as annoyed. "I don't believe in all that love bullshit but if it were true it would be with you. I- I care about you like...like I want you inside me. I want you to have everything. You frustrate the hell out of me because you make me want to give you things I can't give to you! I never wanted a husband, but I'll be damned if I could stand anyone else being your wife! I never wanted kids, but I love you so damned fucking much that I wish I could have them just so I could have yours! I-"

"What did you just say?" I demand, completely frozen in place and half convinced that I just hallucinated the words.

"Damn it Clint! I-" Then she freezes too and I know that she's realized what she's just done. "Fuck!" Immediately she tries to push me off of her for real, all sweetness gone from her body language. I have no doubt she'll leave right now if I don't stop her and this time she really might not ever come back. I resist letting her up, even when I see her fingers fly up towards the pressure point on the back of my neck she likes to use. I grab her wrist before she can manage it and for once I actually do hold her down forcefully, using every unfair advantage I have from her weak state and from being her lookout all these years.

She's not running away after that.

"Let me go you bastard!" She very nearly yells in my face.

"No." I get a better hold of her and make sure she can't move even in the slightest.

"I don't want to lay here and-"

"I don't care." I interrupt "Just stop it Tasha. Stop for one second. It's okay. I love you too."

"Clint-" The look in her eyes really is terrified now.

"It's just a word Tasha. I know how you feel about me without it and I know you know how I feel about you." She starts to calm down a little and I let her out of my death grip, instead just squeezing her hand gently.

"Whatever you can is enough for me Tash. This is enough. Just don't run away and I'll be happy."

And just like that I can see the understanding click in her mind through her eyes.

Those angry emerald eyes that, for many, she would rather simply kill than grace by looking at them with...those eyes finally, finally calm. Just like that the storm she's been surviving in for her whole life dies away and she's not steeling herself against the wind and rain any longer. She's finally in the sun. I know because I can see it plain as day on her face.

For a while, we just lay there with her buried beneath me, our naked bodies pressed up against each other and I watch as she begins to catch up to me. It takes her a while to process everything happening inside, but I can still see the newly won peace there. At least an hour after my last statement she finally murmurs "you really do frustrate the hell out of me."

I smile. "I know." I peck her chastely on the cheek and pull the comforter up over us better so we can finally settle in to get some sleep. She's got a long day in front of her tomorrow and, ideally, she really should probably have more than an hour or two's rest beforehand.

Nat smiles and snuggles into my chest like she's taken to doing lately, with her head using my shoulder as her pillow. I wrap my arms around her waist and rest my hands at the swell of her hip and the back of her head.

"С Рождеством дурак" _Merry Christmas Jackass. _She mumbles into the skin of my chest.

I smile and shake my head a little. I guess somethings won't ever change.

Good.

"С Рождеством возлюбленной." _Merry Christmas Sweetheart._


	25. 3 Steve

The park is beautiful this time of year, decorated with all the lights and and blanketed with a fresh coat of pristine white snow, but the hot coffee in my hands and good friend at my side is what really makes it magical. I keep my steps purposely slow, knowing that Natasha still only has so much energy for this type of thing. She looks better than I've seen her since before her attack; her long red hair curled, emerald eyes bright and cheery, and her cheeks rosy as she strolls beside me at my right. She's in a good mood today, a coy smile gracing her lips that seems to carry some sort of happy secret.

I begin to wonder if she knows that Pepper is with child. I didn't think anyone else noticed her pull Tony aside to the kitchen area during the movie last night, but then if anyone else noticed it would be Natasha. I smile at the recent memory. Tony's face when he opened up the small box Pepper had been hiding under the tree skirt...the one that contained a tiny onsie with the words "My Daddy is a superhero" isn't one that I think I'll ever forget. At first it was simple shock, then uncomprehending disbelief, followed by the future father grabbing up his fiancee and swinging her around in glee. I quit watching when they started kissing.

I can hardly wait for the baby to be born. I've already made up my mind that I'm going to request the child call me uncle. I hope Tony and Pepper will allow it. As much as I long to raise a family of my own, this is probably the closest I'll ever get having my own child. It's not 1943 anymore and Peggy had to move on a long time ago.

"So what do you want to draw today?" The beautiful dame on my right asks, bringing my out of my own melancholy thoughts. Whatever she's thinking about certainly isn't anything depressing, the coy smile of hers never leaves her lips even as she speaks.

I look around to see some kids not far off about halfway though the process of building a snowman and decide to lead Natasha over the bench in front of the scene. It will be a good place for her to rest and for me to sketch. The boy is about eight and blond and the girl about six and brunette with little pigtails and red ribbons in her hair. My friend follows my gaze and, wordlessly, we head over to the wooden bench coated with about an inch or so of snow. I bend down and knock all of the white powder off with my gloved hand so she can sit down and she waits patiently for me to finish before smiling at me wider and sitting in a relaxed pose.

"I loved playing out in the snow as a child." I state, smiling fondly at the memory. Bucky and me used to go out and make snowmen and forts all the time, even if my mother did try to keep me inside as much as possible. The cold air wasn't the best for my lungs, but the memories of getting to simply be a kid and play with my friend is more than worth the others of being in bed sick as an after result.

I notice Natasha's smile drop somewhat out of the corner of my eye and take another sip of my coffee as I realize my mistake. Natasha never had the opportunity to do anything like that as child, despite having grown up in Russia where there is almost always an abundance of snow. Well, I may not know how to do a lot of common activities nowadays, but I do know how to make a snowman. Immediately, I put down my sketch pad and coffee and take hers from her hands gently before pulling her up from her place.

"Come on. Let's build a snowman." I tug her too light body up from the bench without any cooperation on her part and more or less drag her over a few yards to an untouched patch of snow.

"What?" Her green eyes bug out a little at me and I laugh in delight when I realize I've managed to surprise even the Black Widow.

Wasting no time, I bend down and begin gathering snow, rolling the fresh powder into a ball to build into the bottom third of the snowman. I focus on the cold snow, the moisture soaking a little through my red knit gloves, and purposely don't look up at my companion. Her boots stay stubbornly glued in their place and I get the feeling that she's gaping at me even though I can't see her from my bent over kneeling position.

I hope this works. The white ball grows in size and I keep rolling it until it's a good two feet in diameter. Still, the black boots standing beside the ball don't move. I'm beginning to think she's just going to stand there and watch me the entire time until her knees give from all the locked up standing and I look over just in time to see her bottom make contact with the pillowy soft snow behind her. It couldn't have hurt, so I take the opportunity to try to encourage her to participate once more by pulling her up into a sitting position beside me as I chuckle and hand her a freshly made snowball.

Reluctantly she takes it, only to stare at it for a long moment as though it were something totally foreign to her, but then she smiles devilishly and smashes it into my hair with gleeful enthusiasm. I laugh at the cold sensation and grab up another handful of snow, flinging it at her. Her eyes light up once more and a playful smirk forms on her lips as this quickly escalates into an all out snowball fight. She doesn't stand up; she probably can't at the moment, so I stay in my crouched down position too and we both just keep flinging snow at each other from our places only three or four feet away from each other. I have no idea who it is that wins, probably neither of us. When we finally stop, both of us covered in snow and her eyes a light in a childish sort of delight that I don't think I've ever seen on Natasha Romanoff/Barton before.

I lay back, content to be spending time in such simple pleasure with my friend. Natasha and I really are good therapy for each other in that way. She keeps me from getting lost and explains whatever I need to face the new outside world and I point out all the beauty in how it was before and how it is now. From my new position I start to move my outstretched arms back and forth to create a snow angel and then stand up carefully away from it to show her.

"It's called a snow angel. I used to make them all the time."

Her eyes travel from me to the indentions in the snow I just made. It isn't perfect, but it's still beautiful in it's own right. Then, to my surprise, she lays back and mimics me, making her own.

I walk over and pull her up when she finishes so that she doesn't mess it up with any accidental footprints.

"Ангел в снегу." _An angel in the snow_. "Thank you for this."

I shrug. "Anytime. Let's finish our snowman. I sketch it all when we're finished."

Her eyes glance down at the time on her watch and me eyes follow along. 11:23 A.M. We've still got two hours before I need to get her back to the tower to prep for the surgery. I want to make that time pass by as quickly and worry free for her as possible. It's still Christmas, after all, and if one of my best friends and family members is going to have a major operation on the Lord's birthday, well I want her to have some good old fashioned holiday fun first.

"Steve, I need you to deliver a message for me. Can you do that?" I look up to meet her eyes over the half built snowman we're working on from opposite sides. She doesn't look up from what she's doing.

"A message to who?" Is she worried about the surgery? Is this for incase she doesn't wake up?

"Hill." Comes her confident response. "There is an envelope waiting back at the tower. I need you to take it to her at six o'clock exactly tonight. Do you mind?"

Her tone is casual enough. It must just be some employment paperwork. Maybe she's trying to get things ready early so she can go back to work. I smile.

"Sure. What should I tell her?"

"Just give her the envelope and and follow the directions inside. They're for you both."

I frown at the cryptic nature of her request. I want to press for more information, but then I realize that for all the closer our relationship has gotten over the past few weeks, especially during these little outings, the woman in front of me is still a spy.

We finish building our lopsided snowman in comfortable silence and once the snow structure is complete, I begin looking around for sticks to use as arms and pebbles to make the eyes and buttons.

Natasha quickly finds a pinecone only a couple feet from where she sits and begins quietly pulling off the tabs, one by one, to use instead for the eyes. I find two mostly even sized twigs and insert them into place on either side of the torso.

"Can you draw this?" Natasha asks in a hurried whisper once we're done and then her expression becomes alarmed as though she hadn't realized she was actually going to ask me until she already had. Something about her eyes looks wistful. "I want to keep this."

I nod. Of course I will. Didn't I already tell her I planned to?

I sketch the snowman with her sitting next to it in her coat and boots with black shades and charcoal. I sketch the two snow angel impressions in the snow on a second page and then go to help her upright.

"You always know how to make the most mundane things special Steve."

"It's easy to have a good time when you're in good company." I reply easily gathering up our now cold coffees and depositing them both into a nearby trashcan on our way out of the park back towards the tower. This time I'm walking just slightly slower than her, as I'm a little reluctant to leave the laughing children and twinkling lights for my lonely apartment in the Avenger's Tower. The different perspective of my friend's stride worries me. She's walking a little stiffly. Did I make her over do it? Did she hurt herself tripping down earlier? I don't know how she could have with the ground as soft as it is.

"Are you okay?" I ask even though I know her well enough now to know that she hates being asked that.

"Yeah. Great. Why?" She doesn't bother looking at me as she responds nonchalantly.

"It's just that you're walking kind of funny." I tell her and her head immediately jerks around to look at me with a strange mixture of slight embarrassment and amusement written all through her features.

"I hope you didn't get hurt falling earlier. Clint would kill me if I let you get hurt." I kick at some snow on the ground in front of me with my shoe.

Her eyes are alight with internal laughter now. "Oh, don't worry. Clint already knows all about it."

"He does? So it happened with him there?" I persist, wanting to make absolutely sure there isn't anything I should be telling her surgeon about before the procedure.

"Mmmh-hmm."

I frown. There's something she's not telling me here. Clint better not have hurt her. My mind flashes back to his death grip on her arm aboard the plane to Russia. Her long sleeves covered it, but she must have had bruises there. _Did he hit her?_ How could I find out if she won't tell me? Would Jarvis know? _Would Clint Barton do that?_ He would cut off a man's...man parts. _Could he?_ He could squeeze her arm tightly enough that I felt the need to intervene. _Would she let him?_ She did on the plane...

"What happened?" I half ask, half demand as I stop in my tracks.

She takes another couple steps on the icy sidewalk before also slowing down and turning around, raising her eyebrows at me like she's surprised I'd ask.

"What do you think?"

"I think that there is no good reason that a lady should be walking like that...you're practically limping."

I'm shocked to see her actually snort and then chuckle at me as she puts two and two together and gets what I'm implying. Her arm finds mine and loops around my elbow as we start back up the street again. "Oh Cap. Do me a favor and make sure you do exactly what those directions say tonight, okay?"

"Does it explain this?" I ask, gesturing toward her hips and the way she's walking.

A rare carefree laugh escapes her throat and it sounds like bells. It's honestly a little hard to reconcile the fact that the dame I'm with today has killed hundreds of people, even though I've seen her do it in person several times. Right now she's couldn't be pegged as anymore dangerous than any Betty or Estelle out on the street. "Not right away it won't, but I promise you'll understand when you need to."

"But do I need to have a conversation with Clint about this?" I keep my tone serious, wanting her to understand the gravity of his possible transgression. I won't live with a wife abuser. Maybe I should tell Tony and Bruce about this...maybe we should do an intervention? Would that work?

Natasha's face is a bit red by now. "Just read the directions Steve. Clint would sever his own shooting arm off before hurting me with it."

"Alright." I agree, relieved at her reassurance as to her husband's treatment of her but still perplexed at what could possibly be making her walk strangely, even if the difference is only slight.

We get back into the tower and Natasha retrieves the packet for me out of her apartment. It's just a simple sealed brown envelope. The words _To Agent Hill. Open in case of security breach_ are printed neatly in black sharpie across the front.

Before I can ask anything else about it Bruce walks into the room in his lab coat and new silk Christmas tie from Darcy (Darcy got everyone except me and the gals matching Christmas ties) and heads straight for us. "The surgeon's almost ready. We have an operating room set up downstairs in the basement. I have no idea since when or how or why we have one, but apparently we do according to Tony."

Natasha nods, rolling her eyes at Tony even though he isn't here to see her do it. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" She turns to Bruce and places a hand at his upper arm, giving him a genuine smile. "Thank you for doing all of this Bruce. It means a lot to me."

"Well, let's not forget that I did try to kill you once, so maybe this will make it an even draw?" He didn't try to kill her. The Hulk did. But I think he's only saying that to try to let her off the hook from feeling indebted to him anyway. It's a nice thing for him to do on both counts- the medicine and the white lie. I smile at him and nod my head a little. I always did like Dr. Banner. He's a man of character.

"We need to go ahead and be heading down there now. Where's Clint?"

"On an errand." Natasha casually replies, waving off the question and already walking in the direction of the elevator. I shoot Dr. Banner a pointed look and he raises his eyebrows.

Once Natasha gets into the elevator, I motion for Bruce to hang back. Natasha must notice, but if she thinks its odd we aren't riding down with her she does nothing to indicate it. When the doors close I turn to the scientist.

"What kind of errand would be more important than his wife's surgery?"

Dr. Banner simply shrugs and rubs his eyelids with his fingers. "Steve, I've learned that with those two the less questions you ask the better. Trust me. Whatever it is, you probably don't want to know."


	26. 5 Tony

"How confident are you that this will work?" Red asks, coming out from behind the curtain where she is changing into the surgical gown. Her face doesn't show it, but I know from common sense that she must be nervous. Pepper keeps telling me that I should be nicer. She insists that the fact that Spidey feels the need to hide how she feels from us all just means that we need to work harder to prove that she doesn't have to...and a bunch of other touchy feely shit.

I think that the woman is just creepy because she's creepy and there's no need to try to change her. It keeps me entertained and the tower would be boring if everyone here suddenly got over all their personality complexes anyway.

I smile, placing a dramatic hand over my heart and rolling my eyes as I take a few steps around in a circle near the operating table. "Is that fear I'm detecting? I'm hurt! Really, Spidey, the world's finest, most handsome, superhero-playboy-philanthropist-genius at your disposal and you feel the need to question my abilities?"

"Our abilities." Bruce corrects, stepping forward in his three days unwashed lab coat and giving her a much more understanding look as she sits on the operating table. I need to buy that man more lab coats I think. This one is starting to smell enough for even me to start taking notice. "It'll work. Just lay down and try to relax." I watch as he glances at the doctor, standing in his green surgical scrubs on the other side of the Widow, before placing the anesthesia mask over Red's mouth. "Count backwards from ten."

She speaks slowly counting down even though Bruce didn't tell her to, probably used to the drill after all the countless procedures she's had in her life. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five...four...th…" And she's out.

"Okay. Now for the serum!" I hand it over to Dr. Hantso, who had flown in from Atlanta this morning for triple his usual price plus my appearance at his kid's next birthday party in the Ironman suit. He is the top surgeon in the country, though, so what can I expect?

As we had discussed, he prepares the large spinal needle, used to re-infuse the super serum into her body. One of the young female nurses turns Spidey's body over into position and holds her in place as the needle enters just the right place between her upper vertebrae.

Bruce furrows his eyebrows and turns to shoot me a confused glare, just as I expected. "I thought we had to surgically infuse it? We didn't need a medical team to do this. We didn't even need to put her under just for this-"

I swing my arm over his shoulder. "Chill! Chill. I figured out a better way."

"Then why-" He's looking over to where the nurse and doctor stand, removing the now empty needle and turning their patient back onto her back before rubbing down her abdomen with iodine.

"Because he can fix it." I explain, leading him a little further from the operating table just in case he hulks when he finally puts two and two together.

It takes him a little longer than I thought it would. "Does she know about this?!" He points over to the table and raises his voice louder with every word.

I roll my eyes at him,. "Of course not. What? Do you thinks she'd ever let us if she did?" _ Duh_.

"Tony! You can't just go performing surgeries on people that didn't even consent!"

"She consented just fine. I said I was going to fix her. She said 'okay'. That counts." I knew he would be mad. What was it that they always say about no good deeds going unpunished?

"She consented to the serum Tony, not to have some doctor surgically alter her reproductive system!" His skin is beginning to take on a slightly greenish tint to it and I look back over to the other side of the room behind us, satisfied that we are probably far enough away from the operating table.

"Bruce, calm down. It's not like we're doing any damage. She thinks she's sterile. She's not. I read what they did." _Though I really wish I hadn't- it was gross. Even for me it was gross. She's like the walking poster girl for why people should be afraid of becoming government experiments._ "The doc thinks he can fix it. Today. But Anastasia will never consent to it if we tell her so we just say it's part of the procedure. She'll never know. Maybe in a couple of years she'll pop out a baby hawk or two. Dr. Hantso's just trying to undo what the Red Room already did. He's the top surgeon in the country. Nothing bad can happen from it."

Dr. Jekyll takes several calming breaths and stays perfectly still for a moment until the green fades back away. His hands raise up toward me in a halting gesture. "Tony. Tony it should be her choice, not ours. Don't you understand that this is a major life decision? What if she doesn't even want children? Have you ever thought of that? It's personal."

"Like she'd ever admit to it even if she did! Besides, just think about Cupid. Shouldn't he get a choice too? She can still take birth control or get an IUD. All we're doing is giving the choice back to her."

"How is she going to know to take birth control if she doesn't even know she can get pregnant?" Once again I'm beginning to detect a little green in his skin tone.

"Okay! Okay. We'll tell her then. Fine! Does that fix your problem?"

For a moment he throws me a look that would be better aimed at a two year old than a super genius like me. "You still should have gotten a consent!" At this, he throws up his hands and begins walking away to the elevator. Probably, he doesn't want to risk hulking in the operating room. I knew he wouldn't. That's why I waited to tell him in here. They don't call me a genius for nothing.

I sit and wait and watch like a good little genius millionaire teammate from my spot only a few yards away from the operating table. It's one of the perks of having my own OR down here in the tower. The surgeon works carefully with all the metal tools one of the two nurses keep switching out for him. There isn't all that much blood that I can see from my point of view, but her brilliant red hair spread out against the white sheet beneath her draws the eye, resembling running blood with the way her loose shiny curls fall and hang. It's disturbingly beautiful and oddly violent in the same way Pepper's Strawberry straight silky locks are sweet and calming.

I hope to God that all this works. I'd never tell Pepper this, or anyone this, but sometimes I look at that picture of Natasha from her file…the one with the small ballerina and, well, it's a little haunting. The pink tutu and shocking red hair and the too-big emerald eyes that are so eerily similar and distinctly different than Natasha's at the same time.

Sometimes I look at Natasha Romanoff and I see a teammate or I see Pepper's friend or the Black Widow. Sometimes I see her and think of that picture though and, when that happens, I feel like I'm looking at a ghost.

Sometimes I think that the little girl in the photograph is dead even if she is walking around.

The woman on the operating table has been cut open and carved out and re-invented so many times that I truly wonder how it is that any person can make it through what was done. It makes me feel like a pussy for all my panic attacks after the Battle for New York. Maybe that's why when she started screaming in the middle of the damn night I never could bring myself to make any of my usual smart ass complaints.

Maybe me thinking that the shit in her file wouldn't haunt me later was giving myself too much credit. Maybe it did bother me more than I like to admit.

Night after night I just kept my mouth shut and put on the damned coffee, waiting for Pepper to comment on my out of character behavior only to learn that she was either too tired or had a much better understanding of me than I like to give her credit for.

I've been there. I know exactly how not fun panic attacks can be. I had Pepper in bed with me through mine and the first time that I ran in, prepared for the worst, after her screams I was glad to see that she had Clint in bed to hold onto her. I was also relieved to see that neither of them sleep completely naked because I very much doubt that Clint Barton's ass would resemble any of the cuteness of a traditional baby cupid.

Forty-five minutes later the surgeon closes her up and announces he's done and going home to Atlanta to attempt to make it to Christmas day dinner. After reminding me once again which weekend I have to show up in Atlanta and me subsequently telling him to schedule it with Pepper because I don't do schedules or planning or whatever else that involves calendars, we shake hands.

"So, do you think you fixed the problem?" I ask, slightly nervous.

He nods "Whoever it was that did that to your friend should have their license removed. I've never seen anything like that. That being said, as the damage was extensive and, to my knowledge, there has never been any other reversal procedures done for something like this...we'll just have to wait and let nature take its course. I've done everything I can and I believe it's possible. Certainly, she'll be theoretically capable, but after all of that long term damage, I'd still say the chances are fairly remote."

I grimace and nod, giving his hand a firm shake and sending him on his way towards the door where Pepper will be waiting to escort him to the private jet she arranged for him and the nurses as part of the bargain. As soon as the medical team is gone, I go to find Clint to wave him in. I know he'll be anxious to see her.

I'm surprised when he isn't waiting right outside of the room. But I can't run off looking for him now as I know Spidey will be waking up any minute and Pep would kill me if I left her here alone. I swallow my feeling that something isn't right and walk back over to Red, pulling up a chair and sitting next to her head where Cupid ought to be.

"Clint?" Spidey calls quietly as she begins waking.

I look down and notice her blink a couple times before her eyes focus on me.

"Not quite." I smirk. "How do you feel? Give me a rating. Let's say one to ten."

"Is ten the best or the worst?"

"Ten is your best day ever, one is so bad that you want me to kill you out of mercy."

She thinks this over for a long minute. "Eight and a half."

I smile as she sits up slowly on her own and then looks down to notice what I already have and then crosses her arms over her chest to cover herself up better. The room is cold and that hospital gown isn't helping much. I'm about to offer to help her back up to the apartment she shares with Clint when she hops down from the table herself, stretching what seems like every muscle in her body as she does so and casually walks away as if it were just an average day where no substantial surgery had just been done on her. She's out of the room before I can even figure out a smart comment to throw.

But I do yell "You're Welcome!" after she flings open and saunters out the door.

Her only response is a flipped up middle finger held up behind her as she continues walking.

I find Katniess thirty minutes later in the common room standing a couple feet from Red and the two bantering as if- to all the world- the last two months hadn't even happened. Natasha is dressed in her standard garb of dark skinny jeans and a figure flattering shirt and, if I hadn't been there and witnessed it for myself, I never would have believed she'd had surgery just that day.

When they notice me come in (which is nearly instantly) they switch from verbally talking to doing their weird telepathy thing. I think I'm going to have Jarvis start taking notes on that so I can decode whatever it is that they're doing. It's creepy.

"Hey Natasha, have you seen Bruce?" I ask, wondering if she already knows or if I'm actually going to have to be the good boy and explain it to her.

She runs her fingers through her hair discretely (I'm starting to think she's doing that as a sign sometimes for something) before turning to me with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you want with Bruce?"

"Have you talked to him?" I ask again, hoping I don't have to do this.

"Yeah, I ran into him right after I left you." She's giving me her _so what?_ look. Man, she's good. I guess she doesn't want to talk about it- or yell about it- then.

I let out a sigh of relief. Good. It's taken care of then and she isn't even mad. I knew I did the right thing here. I mean, who doesn't want a kid eventually? Speaking of, I need to find Pepper. Last night she gave me the biggest Christmas present of my life and I need to check on her again. Bruce and I worked night and day for weeks on a miracle cure and I thought we were giving Spidey the best gift of the night.

Leave it to Pepper Potts to upstage me.

That little box she had held back and given me in the kitchen later while everyone else watched t.v. upstaged anything and everything I did. It was only a small piece of cloth, but it was enough to shift my entire universe in only a moment. I still have it in my pocket today, wadded up and kept where I can take it out and give myself a reality check any time I start to question if it could really be happening-

A tiny red onsie with a print made to look like an Ironman suit on the front and the words "My Daddy is a Superhero".

Behind me, the two super secret lovebirds are arguing about something...apparently Red wants to leave for something today but Legolas wants to do it instead or something like that. I don't pay much attention. I just want to get back to the mother of my jelly bean sized kid.

When I go to check back in with them later than night they're gone.

Well, that didn't take long. Those enhancers really must be affective as hell at speeding recovery...or else Natasha Romanoff is just a beast. Even though I know that the enhancers do help ( I did just re-invent them, after all) my money is mostly on the latter. I doubt anyone will see her truly vulnerable ever again except for maybe Katniss. But then, I'm not sure that this experience has been so bad for the creepy spider. I get her now. I get who she is rather than just what she does to people. Strange...I don't think I ever noticed the difference until I lived with her when she couldn't work. Defenseless or not, creepy or...well, crazy and creepier, she's not half bad. She's a masterful schemer, liar, actress, hacker, crazy person...but she's not half bad to have around. She's worth all the time and trouble it took to fix her.

I ignore the calls from Bruce and Clint and Maria that stream in as the night goes on. It's Christmas and I'm in bed with Pepper and I don't care about whatever they want my opinion on. I've already done my good deed for the year and it can wait. Lately, Maria Hill (i.e. G.I. Jane) has been asking a bunch of questions about some adjustments to the helicarriers and I just don't care. I also don't care about whatever moral speech Bruce wants to give me (seriously, he's been hanging out way too much with Mr. Spangles) or hear Katniss's undying gratitude for fixing his "just partner" lover-girlfriend-fuck buddy-or whatever.

"Have you thought about any names?" Pep asks, running her warm hand over my bare chest and smiling up at me with a glow that makes her look near angelic. I settle further into the silken sheets and rest my upper body on my elbow atop one of the pillows.

"Yeah. I've already got all that covered." I smirk, pulling her to a position that's more on top of me as I run my hands over her white satin covered hips. My eyes roam from her hips where my hands rest to her hourglass sides and then up to her lace covered cleavage and long graceful neck. _God she's beautiful. _"If it's a boy Anthony, and if it's a girl Tonya."

Pepper shoots me a 'yeah right' look and I chuckle "What? Fine, then Tony if it's a boy and Antonia if it's a girl."

"Tony-" She shoots me a warning glare, but it isn't really serious. A smirk is playing at the corners of her mouth as her eyes twinkle down at me.

"I see; you want your own namesake. Fine then. Tony if it's a boy and Paprika if it's a girl." She rolls her eyes and all out smiles. "Pepperony? Maybe some other spice...Sage? Rosemary- no, wait I don't like that, Saffron? Thyme?" I'm joking, of course, and she knows it.

The phone starts vibrating again against the wooden surface of the new nightstand, except this time its Pepper's phone instead of mine.

Sneaky bastards.

She picks it up even as I beg her with my eyes not to. Apparently my begging face works no better now with her than it ever has. I guess making a baby with her only gets me so far. Damn. "Hello? Yeah...Tony's right here."

I try to motion to her not to give me the phone, but she blatantly ignores me and shoves it at my head anyway. "I need you to get your ass over here to headquarters. Now!"

_Oh fuck. It's the cyclops. _

Pepper tries to move off to the side of me but I hold onto her, not ready to move yet. We haven't even gotten to the good part… "Fury, I'm not sure if you realize this, but there's this crazy thing normal people still celebrate called Christmas. As in,_ no one is supposed to be bothering me_."

"Do you think I give a fuck about your Christmas? Man J.C. wasn't even born in December anyway! What I mean is for you to get your suit and get your ass down here because a whole mess of people is dead. Got me?"

This time I don't hold Pepper back as she moves off my lap and carefully listens in.

"Who attacked?" I ask, still annoyed, but sitting up and untangling my way out of the sheets.

The phone disconnects.

"See what happens when you answer the phone in bed? Now I gotta go in." I complain, wordlessly calling my suit in here to me and letting myself become incased up to the neck before leaning over to where Pepper is still lying and kissing her quickly. "Take care of my jelly bean."

I lean down to kiss her flat stomach, then her lips one more time before I take off the balcony into the cold night.


	27. 5 Natasha

The first night Clint and I spent in Stark Tower- it wasn't renamed yet- directly after the battle of New York, I never set foot inside my assigned guest room. Clint knew, of course, that I was watching him, and I knew that he knew. It didn't matter because we both knew I couldn't leave until I knew for sure that this was still the man that bought me my first cheeseburger and no one else. Still, it seemed a bit pointless to hide from him in the shadows. He'd know where I am anyway from instinct and his eyes have always been much sharper than mine even in the dark.

But I didn't crawl into bed with him either. Not like I had dozens of times before that for one reason or another. I couldn't after Loki's less than subtle threat. The funny thing...or maybe not so funny, is that it never occurred to me to be afraid for myself of what the demi-god might force my partner to do. If Clint had killed me or raped me or done whatever it is that the alien's twisted mind envisioned, it would have destroyed Clint.

The prospect of Clint waking up to a scene like that with my blood on his hands terrifies me on a level that I'm simply not capable of being afraid of for myself.

I know that he's looking at me even though I still can't really make much out other than his basic shape in the dark. I can feel his eyes on my skin and they are comfortably familiar. I'm used to those eyes on me. On most of our missions that's how we operate- me close up and personal in the field and him set up somewhere high with his bow and arrows poised at anyone and everyone who comes near. Those eyes mean safety for me and have covered my ass more times than I'd care to count. They are like my own personal security blanket.

"You know that if he comes back you need to kill me." His voice comes out, low and raw and firm. I know he's serious. "No more games. No chances. I can't- if he can still get to me-"

"I know." I interrupt, unwilling to listen to where this is going. I can't.

I can make out his figure rustling around in the sheets through the dark, turning his body over to face me where I sat on the bottom corner of the bed, opposite of him. I feel exhausted, but there is no question of whether I'd stay up all that night and I could do it without any real trouble as long as I remained vigilant. I was trained in getting by with little to no sleep young and the lessons had always served me well.

I remember wanting so much to reach out and touch him, to assure myself that the figure laying there was really my partner.

"Why did you say today was like Budapest?" The tone is a whisper...a request rather than demand. Something to take his mind off worse things, I guess.

I swallow hard. Should I tell him?

The room is chilly, but I can't run the risk of getting too comfortable by covering up, so I just stay like I am, knees bent, on top of the comforter.

"I thought I lost you there too." I say, lower and more whisper like than I should have. It feels much too intimate this way. "Then you came out, guns blazing and it just felt the same I guess."

It's quiet after that, but neither of us go to sleep.

It strikes me as odd, how much I miss the simplicity, but I really do miss having the ability to just crawl over and nestle into the sheets with him. Clint Barton is the only person I've ever genuinely slept with and sometimes I just feel like I need it.

Not because of anything as childish as what Loki suggested.

There is no such thing as love.

"Love" is nothing but a combination of hormones and chemicals reacting in the brain. It's natural purpose is to trick women into willingly getting pregnant and basically playing the willing host to a parasite for nine months. Love is there to try (and often fail) to convince the man to stay and help the mother keep the above mentioned parasite alive and well. It wrecks the woman's body.

Love (or lust, take your pick) is the thing I've successfully used over a hundred times over the course of my nearly lifelong career to sucker idiotic, horny, or desperate men (and at least fifteen women) into giving me whatever information my job dictates important. I use it because it makes people soft.

Pliable.

Idiotic.

What I have with my partner...it isn't love. Not by my definition anyway. Mutual respect, certainly. Devotion...obviously. Close friendship. Trust. Affection.

I would do anything for him, even kill him if necessary. If Loki comes back into his brain- if he still has a hold on my partner- I will kill him. It would be a mercy kill at that point. Nothing more than shooting a rabid dog to put it out of it's misery.

Except for the small fact that the rabid dog happens to be the only person I've ever trusted in my life.

I want to reach out. I want to touch him.

But all I do all night is stare at his shadow just a few feet away, waiting. Watching. Wanting something I couldn't...wouldn't dare to voice. Clint never gets to sleep either, though its clear he makes every attempt at it.

In the morning I leave his room before anyone else can see that I was ever there, but I don't stop watching him. I watch him for days in the tower...weeks back at S.H.I.E.L.D., but I don't ever crawl into bed with him during that time like I long to. In fact, the realization of how much I miss it, miss him, miss the comfort, the intimacy my partner provided in the random nights before Loki just served to make me angry at myself. How is it that I had become so needy, so soft, so trusting that I actually feel like I need another person? I shouldn't need anyone but me. If anything in my life, that was the real lesson number one.

Still, I watched him as he went about his day, never bothering to try to talk to me or question my motives for following him around like a shadow. He knew why. I watched as he ate his cereal and chewed too loudly. I watched as he steadied himself into position with his bow, his muscles distinct and larger than I'd noticed before as he pulled back to release arrow after arrow into the practice target. He split the previous arrow with each new one, like some fictional Robin Hood figure or something. I watched as he settled down into the couch cushion to watch the footage Cap had decided we should all watch of Loki incase he ever returns. If anything, my surveillance of him only seemed to relax rather than annoy him. Maybe it made him feel better to know that if Loki invades his mind again someone will know right away. Maybe he was just comforted by my presence as a constance as a friend.

I found myself sitting beside him after the final debriefing then, holding his hand between our laps in what I hoped was a comforting gesture. Tony set up the holograms, trying and failing at explaining how any of it works to Steve. When the footage came to the part of me interrogating Loki, I forced myself to stare straight ahead at it, ignoring everyone's questioning glances and doing my best to ignore Clint's all out shocked stare that he wipes away after a split second.

Of course, I had known it was coming. I also knew that the more I tried to downplay it, the more likely it was that everyone would see right through me. I knew there was a distinct possibility the encounter would be misunderstood. At the end of the day it didn't matter. I decide my own tactics for getting the information I want; I have ever since I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. So what if that tactic happened to include bargaining for Clint? Clint is my partner and I meant what I said about fallen regimes and balancing my ledger. That doesn't make my heart slow down any when I feel how tight Clint's grip has become on my hand. Strangely, it never occurred to me before that moment to worry about what he might think about it. The fact that I'm not sure what he'll take it to mean makes me nervous in a way I'm not familiar with and I continue to keep my eyes glued forward, refusing to meet his stare even though I can feel the archer's blue eyes on me.

I can't meet his eyes, not for a while anyway, they would give away too much. But I do discreetly sign for us to leave, hoping he'll understand to save any questions for when we're in the privacy of my black Corvette Stingray. Once we're out of the garage, I'm expecting him to say something, but he doesn't other than to suggest we go for cheeseburgers.

The suggestion makes me smile. This is the Clint I know. When we're comfortably seated in the nearest burger joint that hasn't been destroyed in the fight, I finally meet his eyes.

He's angry at me. I roll my eyes at him and take my first bite of the quarter pounder I've ordered. Clint just continues to watch me, making no move to dig into his own food. Uh oh. Then this is serious to him. Shit.

"What?" I ask, my tone coming out more annoyed than I really had intended, as I put down the burger and start picking through my fries.

"You fought me, _alone_, after he threatened _that_! What the hell were you thinking?" He has yet to touch his food at all...usually he inhales this stuff so fast I can't even be sure he tasted anything. Honestly, most of his food could be asparagus and old sock flavored and with the speed that he generally eats it, I highly doubt he'd ever notice.

I crunch on another french fry before answering, refusing to allow him to ruin my appetite. "You needed to be stopped. If anyone else did it they would have killed you. Plus no one knows your fighting style like I do."

"And no one knows your fighting skills like me. You could have lost. Did you think about that?" I roll my eyes again at that and swallow my mouth full of french fries.

"But I didn't."

"But you could have." His blue eyes are set hard at me. It's been a long time since I've seen him this upset.

I set my eyes just as hard right back at him. "Clint. I'm not fighting you about this. You're my partner. I wanted you back. I fought to get you back. Simple as that."

"Simple as that? What if I had won? What if I had done exactly what Loki threatened?"

"It wasn't you. It wouldn't have been your fault."

"If I had woken up to you dead...if I had killed you or...done other stuff to you, do you think I could live with myself?"

"You wouldn't have lived anyway if I didn't snap you out of it. It was a calculated risk and it was worth it and if it had been the other way around you'd have done the exact same thing so don't tell me otherwise."

His sigh is quiet, quieter than the sound of him chewing his first few french fries. I stare at him. He stares back.

And I know beyond any shadow of a doubt that there is no one but Clint in there.

That night I don't watch him sleep, but instead I sneak into his room like I have so many times before and then crawl into bed with him. Just like he always had before whenever I'd done this, he draws the covers up to my shoulder. Just like always, he turns to face my back and wraps one arm around my torso and then stays perfectly still. Just like always, he says "come here, Nat." Just like always, I back up into him just a little bit more, just a little bit closer so that I can feel his warmth through my teeshirt and sweats- before I fall asleep surrounded by him. And just like always, I feel simultaneously comforted and alarmed at the feeling doing this with him gives me- that the world really can be a good place.

_I'm not sure why my mind keeps going back to that_.

I'd protected him then, like he's protected me so many times. But I never could figure out what the hell he wanted from me. It frustrated me to no end, especially in the beginning months and years. He said he wanted a partner for a while. Then a friend. I think that he told me whatever he thought I could handle in retrospect. Now I finally know what it is that he really wants and I have every intention of doing my damnedest to give it to him, even if the whole idea is insane.

It might be difficult to explain to anyone else, but infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D. and killing the pig who sold me out is the first step of doing that. It's also going to be the easiest. If anything, it's far too easy. Fury knows, of course. He considered it good practice for the junior agents to try to stop me. Said that it might keep them from becoming too cocky. In the end it probably served better as a warning to them to never, ever try to sell another agent out (especially me).

Interesting fact: in the event that S.H.I.E.L.D. is infiltrated, Hill has some rather specific protocol to follow in order to secure the most important data files that are too sensitive to ever be entered into a computer for fear of hacking. It involves her locking herself inside a vault on sub-level 18- the lowest, most interior part of the building, where she will act as the final defense against anyone seeking to steal any of that information. As there is no form of communication in or out of that room, it will become sealed with her inside as soon as she closes the door until she decides to come out. The standard wait time is four hours in the hopes that whatever is happening is over by then. If not, she can always re-seal herself- she's the only one (as far as I know) with the entrance codes, but once it's closed, no one leaves until the four hour safety timer runs out. Few people are privileged to the knowledge of those files at all, but a few were gathered by my hand, so I got a quick peek once.

Generally speaking, I'm good at timing things, but Clint is even better. It's part of his sniper skill set. That's goodI smile as I walk calmly through the halls, never needing more than one move to take down any junior agent dumb enough to cross me and never bothering to slow down to let them see that it's only me and Barton. We broke in to alert the alarms on purpose and I need to keep that act up. No one is supposed to know that Fury and Hill are in on it. That was the agreement. It's a practice invasion.

I smile as I take down another few sophomore level agents while I calmly make my way up the stairs. I want to run and let loose badly. With how great I'm feeling, I want to use this building as one giant parkour course right now, but I know better than to do anything to pull my stitches today. Clint is right behind me and he's watching me like a hawk (pun intended), so I'm keeping my moves down to a more subdued level and try to focus my energy on efficiency and speed rather than style or creativity.

I've been out of the field for months and unable to workout, fight, or spar. I just had major surgery about four hours ago. My lower abdomen is covered in stitches and my muscles are no longer anywhere close to their usual toned shape. I haven't bothered to bring any guns, opting instead for just my knives and widow's bite. I should be much easier to defeat than I ever have been since joining S.H.I.E.L.D.

As I come out of the stairwell onto the appropriate floor to take down my real target, I can see a group of twelve more junior agents gathered a few yards away to stop me.

I give them a wide grin and flip my loose red curly hair behind my shoulder as I go straight towards them all. This is gonna to be fun.

Let's see who's ready.


	28. Maria

Romanoff speed walks past the first corridor without even stopping to look at the three junior agents she knocks them out, one on either side of her with an elbow to the face and another with the back of her head as the young brunette tries and fails at grabbing her from behind. It's over so quickly I doubt they could even identify who in infiltrator is, I have to hit the slow motion on the monitor just so I can see anything except a blur of a black suit and shock of red hair.

The Redhead is a blur through the white hallways, taking down one agent after another so quickly and effortlessly that it feels more like I'm watching a professional parkour video on youtube than an illegal infiltration in one of the world's most fortified buildings from a rouge agent. I hit the panic button on the desk in front of me, but I know full well it won't do any good.

I'm on the rouge's side, so it doesn't matter anyway.

Silently, Fury holds out his hand and I slap the twenty I owe him into his palm even as I'm rolling my eyes. Honestly, you'd think the stitches would slow her down a little. To the world and all the rest of the agency, Agent Romanoff is permanently down. We made sure everyone thought that, especially the leak who set her up on her last mission. Fury smiles, leaning down from where he stands to watch the monitor a little closer. I load and cock my gun just in case, though I doubt I'll be needed.

Romanoff is one of the few agents here that might actually be able to take even me down. We've never talked much, but she takes orders well and gets the job done. No nonsense. We both have a mutual appreciation for that.

Walking calmly behind her through all the unconscious bodies of the various junior agents and security guards is non other than Agent Barton. Of course. I roll my eyes, but then can't help but smile a little in spite of myself. Hopeless. Both of them.

He isn't doing anything anyway. Just walking. Following his partner while she strews a path of destruction from the front doors right through the winding halls up to the ninth story office. It's like watching Sherman's march through Georgia minus all the fire.

"Is this strictly necessary, sir?" I ask, frowning at the twenty third agent I count knocked down without so much as a single second glance from Romanoff. When Romanoff had originally come to us with her intentions about this I had thought it would be a good training exercise. In practice, the only training that any of the junior agents on that wing are getting is how to get knocked out by Romanoff.

Fury looks up at me, taking his eye off the monitor for the first time since the siege began no more than ten minutes ago. "I will not stand for leaks in this agency, especially when it puts my best agents at risk. Let this serve as an example for any other turncoats on this staff. Besides, the agreement is nonlethal force only... for everyone but Gable."

I pull up his office on another screen. He's sitting in his desk as expected, buried in the paperwork I rained down on him this morning to ensure his whereabouts. Agent Romanoff hasn't reached his office yet, but it will only be another moment. Barton is even further behind her now, so unconcerned about all the junior agents that he's actually giving her space while she takes one down with her signature thigh scissor move while punching another in the throat.

I smile as I turn away, knowing that I should follow procedure and get downstairs. I barely even notice the view outside as I briskly walk alone, but the snow catches my eye as I get into the elevator. It's beautiful outside and just beginning to get dark enough for me to notice all the twinkling Christmas lights off in the distance.

_Christmas. _ I look down and shake my head a little at myself. I suppose I worked right through it again this year. Oh well. Let the agents who have someone to spend it with go home.

I'm certainly not the only one here who's alone. A lot of agents here live like me. No attachments. No strings. No permanently attached partner I'm completely co-dependent on like Romanoff and Barton. Hell, the closest thing to family I've got is Director Fury and he refuses to even celebrate Christmas in December. Nope...I think as I stare out the clear glass that makes up the sides of the elevator into the lightly falling snow. No reason to rush home tonight.

All I have is an empty apartment and fridge full of microwavable meals anyway.

The elevator dings to a stop at level twelve and I look up, slightly startled, at Captain Rogers as he steps in, impressive as always, with a brown envelope in his hand.

"Agent Hill." He nods in that polite old fashioned way of his that no one else ever does anymore and flashes me a blinding signature smile.

"Captain Rogers." I smile back softly, lost as to what on earth he could be doing here, but happier than I should be to see him.

As if he could read my mind though, he hands over a brown envelope that reads: To Agent Hill. Open in case of security breach.

"Natasha wanted me to give this to you."

Natasha? Since when is she on a first name basis with...anyone...well, other than Barton? Man, they must not have been kidding when they said she was really sick. Maybe the fever fried part of her brain.

I rip the open envelope open as the elevator sinks lower into the beginning of the subfloors. Inside is one single white note paper with my name on it and another with his. Intrigued, I hand the one with his name on it back to him and look down to read my own. In neatly scrawled handwriting it reads:

_Agent Maria Hill,_

_What Fury doesn't know won't hurt him this once. Merry Christmas._

Befuddled as to what could possibly be going on, I look up to Captain Rogers, who's face is blushing hard as he simply continues to stare at the paper, and frown at him.

"This makes no sense. What does yours say?"

Hesitantly, he opens his mouth to answer, but just as he does, the elevator dings one last time to signal that we've reached the floor I'm supposed to get to...except this isn't the floor.

The floor I'm heading to is empty except the giant vault door. This floor is dimly lit with only Christmas lights and candles and has a table set up for two; it even has 1940's Christmas music playing softly in the background.

What the hell is going on here?

I snap my head back up to Rogers again, but he's too busy going from confusion to shock to nervousness to sadness to pay any attention to me, as he steps out from the elevator into the strange scene. I have no idea what is going on other than that, apparently Romanoff and Barton are somehow responsible. I trust them both well enough...but never the less my hand still instinctively moves to the gun holster on my hip and I draw it out and proceed to keep it cocked and ready as soon as I leave the elevator behind Rogers and begin investigating and securing the small room. The smell of Chinese food fills the air and I wonder again what the hell could possibly be going on as I search every square inch only to find nothing.

Agent Rogers is still just standing in his original spot just in front of where he exited the elevator, but when I look back up again I notice that now he's watching me. It's an odd expression he has in his eyes...sadness? A little, but that doesn't explain the still present blush to his cheeks or the small, sweet smile on his handsome lips as he continues to look at me as though I'm something completely new to him somehow, rather than a well known colleague.

"Do you know what's going on here?" I ask from across the room. "What does your note say?" I walk over to him quickly, anxious to understand.

Still keeping his small smile, he turns to me and reads:

_ "Dear Steve. It's taken me a while, but I think I found you the right dance partner. Merry Christmas._

_Your friend, _

_Natasha."_

_Huh. _I'm supposed to dance with him? I wonder what that means?

His voice comes out a little nervous as he reads, but he doesn't look unhappy about it.

I just stand there and blink at him, lost. "I guess she didn't want us to be alone for Christmas dinner." I venture...still a bit shocked. Why would Romanoff go through all the trouble to do this?

"When did she do this?" I ask, looking around again. It feels like some private area of a fancy restaurant in here.

"It must have been Clint. She said he had an errand earlier…" He moves to sit down at the small, white cloth covered table and begins uncovering the dishes of chinese food. "As-as long as we're here though, would um...would you like to join me?"

His big blue eyes sparkle at me and I catch myself looking for a moment too long before I nod and put my gun away before sitting down opposite of him.

There's wine on the table and I move to our myself a little, testing the bottle first to be sure it was previously completely sealed and untampered with and Rogers begins to chuckle at me.

"She isn't going to poison us." He laughs good-naturedly as he takes the wine bottle from my hands gently and pours a little into both our empty glasses.

I smell the wine and decide that it's probably ok to risk it. "I don't know. This all seems a little too good to be true." I comment, grasping my chopsticks and probing into the room temperature rice with them. Who knows how long all this has been sitting here? Oh well…a date with Steve Rogers might be worth a case of food poisoning.

"Well it's nice to know that I've still got it then." Rogers smiles again playfully and I chuckle back at him. This definitely isn't the way I pictured my night going.

Skillfully, he picks up his chopsticks and begins eating his plate of rice and vegetables and beef, though it looks as cold as mine.

"So what was she talking about a dance partner for, Captain Rogers?" That part still perplexes me.

At this Steve just shyly smiles. "It's Steve…and I have an idea."

I smile back at him. "Call me Maria then. You like dancing?" I venture, trying not to let my nervousness leak out into my voice.

He keeps that small, wistful smile as he shakes his head gently. "Never done it."

I let out a breath of relief. Good. I don't do long under covers like Romanoff where you learn those kind of random skills. I'm more of the soldier type of agent. In the type of life I lead, there is no time or cause to go out doing frivolous things like dancing. "Well, I'd better confess now that I'm pretty bad at it." I wince a little as the confession comes out…I'm not used to having to admit to a lack of skills. I'm not used to lacking in relevant skills at all.

Steve is smiling at me from across the table by now, bigger this time and with a twinkle in his eye I haven't seen before. "Maybe we can learn together then sometime."


	29. 6 Natasha

The first time I held Clint's hand in was in the cafeteria at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New York base. I had timed it just so that the maximum amount of agents would notice and fake hid it just enough to look as though we were trying to be discreet. Within one hour almost everyone on base had heard about it and had taken it as confirmation that Barton had only brought me back as a piece of ass for him to fuck. It was exactly what I wanted everyone to think.

It gave me the two things I wanted most: to punish Clint Barton for trying to play with my head and to keep everyone else the hell away from me.

He had been startled when I did it, looking at me with questioning blue grey eyes as though he had no idea what the pretty obvious gesture could mean. I didn't back down though, giving him a twisted, menacing smile and dragging him to an empty table with me, though I knew bothered actually speaking to him while we ate. If he wanted to play games with my head fine. I'd bite.

I had another psych session after lunch for the idiots upstairs to try to figure me out, just like every day since I'd been on base. Sometimes, if they sent in someone who could speak Russian, I'd tell them whatever I knew they wanted to hear. Sometimes I'd simply sit and say nothing. The one they send in today made it clear that he was painfully obviously straight out of training and not much older than me. I smile at him just barely and look up through my lashes and keep both of my ankles crossed politely. He bumbles through his Russian with a thick, Texas accent and clearly devotes two thirds of his energy mentally translating my words and the other third desperately trying to control his pathetic hard on, or at least keep it hidden under his notepad.

"Умм . Итак, как вы приспособиться к жизни здесь, на базе?" _Umm. So, how are you adjusting to life here at base?_

I roll my eyes. It's the same set of questions everyday from a different therapist. Smart of them to try to see how many variations of the same story I make up, how I react to different personality types, whether I cooperate at all under any circumstance. Of course, it would work a lot better if I didn't already know what their game is.

It's been over five months and I'm sick of being stuck on base. It's the longest I've ever spent in one place since graduating from the Red Room. Today I don't feel like bothering to regurgitate up my memorized responses so I just lean back into the cushions of the stereotypical therapist's couch and cross my arms.

"Это пойдет намного более гладко, если вы сотрудничаете, мисс. Романова" _This will go much more smoothly if you cooperate, Miss. Romanova._

_Yeah. I'm sure it would for him. _I set my eyes on a blank stare right into his own and can practically feel him waging a mental war between fighting his simultaneous arousal and fear and trying to maintain calm professionalism.

When I am finally excused an hour later I find Barton waiting for me outside in the hallway.

"What do you want?" I demand, point blank. I'm in no mood for his bullshit right now.

He's leaning up against the wall wearing civilian jeans and a t-shirt with a smart ass grin on his face. "Coulson thought I'd like to be the one to tell you you've been cleared for active duty. Supervised, of course, but it gets you out of here. You have an appointment with Fury tomorrow at eight."

I suppress my smile and give him a curt nod, turning in to walk in the direction of my bunk. His hand grabs onto mine from behind though, gently pulling me back towards him. "Where are you going?"

"My room." I state in a tone that should make it clear to him exactly how unneeded this whole conversation is. I begin walking again, but instead of taking the not so subtle hint and letting go of my hand he keeps hold of it and moves forward to catch up to my stride.

"Don't…I- I want to show you something."

I raise an eyebrow at his hand, but don't pull away, too interested in where this is going. What does he want to show me? His room? He grins at me and leads us down a seldom used side hallway and then up to a large air duct cover which he immediately removes. I follow him inside and through the duct tunnel for about five minutes, all the while silently memorizing every twist and turn and counting how far and in which direction he's taking us in case I need to find my way back out quickly. Keeping a brisk pace and ever hesitant about where he's turning, it's clear he's comfortable in here and knows these ducts well enough to have them all memorized.

Finally, we come to another vent from which I can see what I'd guess to be headlights passing by. Expertly, he removes the cover so we can exit and I climb out behind him into a parking garage.

"My S.U.V. is over here." He states with mild excitement in his voice and attempts to take my hand again. I shrug away from it, giving him a look that tells him exactly where he can shove it. Unfazed, however, he simply retrieves his keys from his jacket pocket and unlocks a silver S.U.V. remotely parked across the lot. "You coming?" He turns back to ask once he reaches the driver's side and looks back to see me still standing in front of the vent. I quirk an eyebrow up at this and give him a purposely sly grin.

"Where are we going?" I ask with a smirk as I allow him to open the door on my side for me and climb inside. The fact the he felt the need to open the door on my side is telling.

"You'll see." He smiles back as he shuts my door and walks around to the driver's side.

I press my head back into the seat and push my chest out towards him just a bit, subtly sending all the signals I'm used to using to my advantage. So far, Agent Idiot hasn't taken the bait, but I still want to know what his game is and the best way to do it is to treat him the same as any other person I've ever wanted intel from. It isn't any different, really.

"Well, judging by your interesting exit route, I assume this little excursion is hasn't exactly been cleared." I comment while paying most of my attention to where we're going. _Left._

"Not…exactly. But it's important." I grin at him. Important. Sure. Deciding he's unlikely to make a move until we stop I keep my eyes on the road. _Half a mile straight, right. Two miles. Right. Quarter mile. Left_.

He parks us near the door in the parking lot of a smallish restaurant with a giant lizard on the bright green sign reading "B &amp; D Burgers". It's an interesting front anyway…I'm sure.

"Told you we have cheeseburgers…and today, you are going to experience your first _better_."

I shoot him a doubtful glare as I follow him in.

"Trust me, Natalia, this is the kind of place that's going to make you love being an American. You'll want to fight for the good guys just to protect places like this once you get a taste of these amazing burgers."

"Uh huh." I cross my arms, feigning boredom as we walk to a booth and a hefty blonde waitress comes to hand us our menus. I take a good look at her while Barton orders some nonsense for the both of us then turn back to him.

"Just as long as being an American doesn't lead to me looking like one, I guess." I keep my voice purposely critical and sigh. I was used to strict dietary restraints from the Red Room. It didn't include carbs, let alone bread, and I could smell the grease this stuff was cooked in from here.

Barton chuckles as the waitress comes back with our sodas. It's coca cola, I think. I've had it once before, while undercover in Mexico. This stuff tastes just as overly sweet as that had before and I place it back down on the table after only one sip in distaste. Maybe I should just play the character he wants and drink it. Normally I would. It would be the smarter thing to do…to just play the character. It's what I'm used to, but for some absurd reason I can't help but get the feeling that he'd see through the act. Meanwhile, he downs half his fizzy soda in a single loud, long slurp. I sigh. This is the man to whom I'm stuck with to try to keep from being all out murdered by the Red Room? I look down at the table. This is the same man who swore he could offer me protection from them? It's almost comical.

I'm going to die.

Oh well, I might as well just eat the damned burger then. It's not like I'm going to have time to get fat with this idiot as the only person in between me and them. The burger looks like a huge greasy mass of bread buns and a large hunk of meat, probably beef, from the smell, in between with melted yellow cheese all across the meat. The lettuce and tomatoes and onions still look good and fresh though. I pick it up only to realize that Agent Idiot is staring at me again from across the table with a hugh grin spread wide across his face.

I just barely refrain from rolling my eyes at him again before taking a small bite and then have to swallow back a moan at the shock of how good it tastes. No wonder these people are fat. I take a bigger, much more enthusiastic bite. He's smiling at me like a jackrabbit.

"Told you. Worth it to you now?" I don't answer him other than to take another bite. He's slathering his pile of fries with a bright red sauce from a glass bottle labeled 'ketchup' and then leans over the table to pour some on the empty part of my plate as well where the burger used to sit. Honestly, I didn't care what he wanted to stick on there, however unappetizing it looks. I'm much too content to devour the burger.

We sit, mostly in silence, as I try the fries in the red sauce and end up eating most of those as well as the whole of the burger. I'm not used to eating this much and my stomach was already beginning to hurt, but I don't care. It's worth it.

"So, Coulson told me I could give these to you now." He produces a couple of I.D. cards from his pocket and pushes them across the table to me.

I pick them up to study them. One is an American driver's license with the name Natasha Romanoff. The second is a S.H.I.E.L.D. I.D. badge under the same name.

"Natasha Romanoff?" I read out, letting my voice communicate the question.

"Coulson picked it. Thought that you needed a name change if we wanted to keep you under the radar for a bit. The office squibs that usually handle this stuff were going to go with something really different- I think Coulson said they were gonna go with Madison Farmer or something like that but he stopped them. Said he thought you'd appreciate something a little more…"

"Yeah...Tell him thanks." I look up and force myself to meet his eyes for moment. It wouldn't have been the most ridiculous cover I've ever had to use, but the name Natasha felt more like something I could genuinely live with.

"Yeah. Sure." He stands and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I should get you back."

Standing up from my seat at the booth and following behind the man, I take the time to really study him once again, still trying to figure out his play.

I had been spending an absurd amount of time with the idiot agent since I got here. He's the only one I've been allowed to spar with in the gym since the first time I went in and tore up a few other random agents to let out some steam. I've been spending more energy than I should have trying to figure out what game he's trying to play and that carries over into our first real mission a few days later.

By that point I don't even sleep without wondering what I'm doing anymore. Especially not with him in the room. They like to insist on doing that. Putting us together as if he owns me. As if bringing me in makes me automatically his. They all seem to forget I came in on my own free will. He didn't drag me. He didn't force me. He couldn't have if he wanted to. Yes, he could have killed me when I was completely unaware of him, but once I came to from that sedative, I could have gotten away. Could have killed him. Could have left. Could have escaped S.H.I.E.L.D. if I had really put my mind to it. It's just that I feel so exhausted around him. The unvoiced expectations of blind loyalty from him. That look he gives...like he knows something about me that I don't. Like he thinks I'm something other than what I've always been trained to be.

I'm not a good person and I sure as hell don't need him to save me from anything. There is nothing left to save. Everything that can be taken has been took…really since before I was even old enough to know the difference. The only thing that remains is the only thing I am: a set of unparalleled killing skills. So he wants to use those skills to his advantage. Fine. I'm used to that too.

What I don't get is why he doesn't just fuck me already and get it over with. He's not gay. I could tell that as soon as he saw me after the shower in that shit motel room in Moscow. He's very attracted to me, just like everyone always is. And, again, S.H.I.E.L.D. basically treats me as though I'm his fucking property.

It bugs me on a level I'm not used to. I don't care if he uses me like that. Everyone in charge of me always has. Sexual contact means nothing to me. I've fucked and been fucked in every physical way known to man. It would be easy if he would just do it already. I would be able to rest then. I would be able to understand him then. But this whole holding onto me at night like some damned stuffed animal thing is bizarre. I can't fall asleep this way. Who the hell could? His arms are wound around my torso and his warm chest is up against my back and his head is close enough for my hair to be only inches from his face. His grip is weird. It's tight, but not physically uncomfortable. One of his hands is resting on top of my wrist in front of my ribs. The sensation feels oddly secure, like the handcuffs used to when I'd go to sleep in the Red Room. It'd taken me a while to break that habit, but ultimately it just isn't practical out in the real world. You have a half a second to react from dead sleep to keep from just being plain dead sometimes. Voluntary restraints, however comforting and familiar, don't play a part in keeping you alive in those scenarios.

I don't like the physical comfort that results from him. I don't like the assumption that I trust him enough to sleep here. I don't trust anyone enough for that. It's an advantage I'm not willing to give to anyone. I can't kill if I'm asleep...he must understand the difference. Fucking him doesn't involve giving him that advantage. I can kill him in the middle of that. I have killed in the middle of it before...a few times. Sometimes while they were still hard inside me. I try to picture doing that to Agent Barton but end up stopping short as soon as I try picturing his piercing blue eyes losing that annoying look to them. For some weird reason I don't really like the mental image, though the ones that came before it of him sliding into me and us meeting thrusts against some wall or doorway don't bother me.

Eventually I just fake it. Acting like I fell asleep is nothing new, though I'm more accustomed to faking other things in the beds of men. Still, it's all about figuring out what they want and pretending to give it to them. Most men want to feel like gods in bed, so I fake like they are and moan and clinch and beg them whatever their pathetic little minds want to hear me beg for. Agent Idiot wants for me to trust him blindly enough to sleep here. With him. In his fucking arms. So sure. I can do that. I can fake anything.

Weirdo.

I slip out and away slowly in a process that takes at least thirty minutes after he's reached REM sleep. First I work my wrists away from his hands, repositioning them temporarily to the side of my breast, then my ribs, then my hip before working them to rest in the warm spot of the mattress where my upper body had been just seconds before. It takes longer to dislodge my lower body without making the mattress lift or dip from the change of weight too quickly.

Finally, when I'm up and free of him, I find myself just standing beside the bed. My eyes are well accustomed to the dark and I can see his figure. His face is pouting and it looks akin to a child's. I cross my arms after a moment, realizing that the air is colder in the room than I would have thought with his body heat surrounding me before. At first, I just planned to go back to the other room assigned and go to sleep there. Then a different thought hits me. Why hasn't he fucked me? Seriously? Is it a power trip? Is it disgust from my past? Does he think he's too good for me somehow? Almost instantly, I mentally laugh at the thought. Yeah...right. I'm the Black Widow. I could seduce him if I wanted. But that doesn't play into this little game he has going on. Pretending he doesn't want me. Acting and talking like this is in order to try to trick me into some deeper level of trust that no one will ever be intitled to. He wants to control me without me knowing it.

Well fuck that. And fuck this whole thing. I'm sick of being brainwashed and if he wants to control me he could at least have the decency to come out with it.

Without a second thought I walk out of the room and leave him to do his own dirty work on this stupid mission. He'll finish the mission or get killed. If he does manage than he'll live to show his end game when I show back up at pick up.

Except he doesn't.

He lies his ass off and makes it sound like I should get most of the credit.

He doesn't know it, but I sneak into his bunk that night back on base. He sleeps weird...there's something between a pout and a childish smile on his face. It shouldn't surprise me, really. He's just as childish during the day, trying to play games with my head. What he doesn't understand is that he's playing with someone far beyond his league.

For a while, I just stand there and watch him, knowing I wouldn't get any satisfaction from cracking his neck this way. Not until I know what shit he's trying to pull and why. Not until I've seen him cave and try to fuck me just like everyone else. But this is taking too long. Playing by his rules aren't working.

Let's see what he does when I don't play along with his stupid little mind-fuck game.

He wants to play games with me?

Fine.

Let's see how this idiot likes playing on my terms instead of his.

The next day during our sparring time I finally let loose on him. No holding back. I want him to know exactly who he is dealing with. So we go at it. He catches on pretty quickly, sensing my shift in intensity and doing his best to block me. I have him down from a thigh scissor move in about four seconds, but he punches me in the stomach from the matt instead of tapping out and I know that it really is on between us. Other agents start gathering around the peripheral of the gym to watch, but I ignore them, pulling out move after move and barely being touched by Barton at all until he switches tactics to make me come to him. Smart, but I still slither out of every hold he manages to grab me into until he resorts to grabbing me by my long curly ponytail. Low move, but effective. So I pull out my knife to play dirty back and he jumps out of range just in time for me to rip open a punching bag instead of his flesh. Of course, even if I had cut him, it wouldn't have been serious…maybe just a few stitches, because this was a friendly sparring, but the use of my knife clearly intimidates all the agents who have come to watch. He takes that second where I'm pulling my knife back out of the punching bag to knock it out of my hand and land a roundhouse kick to my knee, which forces it to bend and I fall to the matt in the pile of sand that has escaped the bag. Still undeterred, however, I simply grab him down with me and roll us over so that I'm now on top of him in a straddling position and with my elbow over his neck.

Grinning as though he'd won instead of me, he taps his hand down three times on the matt to signal his loss and I let go of him, but still stay where I am for a second. That felt good. I needed to let out some steam and I realize that I'm smiling at him from the relief of if all. Quickly, I wipe the expression off my face and set it back to my standard blank and fight the urge to scramble off of him. Everyone is watching. I lean down, pressing my chest against his and grinding my hips just a little, before slowly standing up and extending a hand down to him. He looks at me a bit incredulously, but takes it as another look of disappointment clouds over his face. It didn't start when I broke contact though, but before that when I remembered myself and quit the stupid smile I hadn't realized I was giving him.

Now, eight years later I find myself smiling at him much the same, with that sense of relief only a good fight or…lately, a good orgasm, can ever give me. Of course, the office we're standing in is a mess. There's blood everywhere…all from the former leak that had been both greedy enough and profoundly stupid enough to sell me out. I bend down, coolly collecting my knife and cleaning it off on the dead man's jacket that's still hanging by the door, and look over to Clint who has the same grin on his face now as he stares back at me as he did on the mat eight years ago.

This time I don't hide my relieved smile. It feels better. Everything feels better now that I'm back on my own two feet in my tactical suit. I finally feel like myself again…finally feel useful again. I don't say anything to Clint as I'm fairly sure at this point he's on the same page as me and my thoughts are only confirmed when he steps over the dead body to clap a friendly arm around my shoulder. "So…you think any burger joints around here will be open on Christmas?"

"I think we should be able to find something." I reply, strolling casually with him out of the office.


	30. Unnamed Mark

_Author's note: This chapter has been moved to the end for the order to make sense, however,_**_ the new chapter is actually chapter 29 "6 Natasha", s_**_o if you are reading this as an update, don't let the order of things confuse you._

* * *

**Epilogue **

She has a lovely neck. White like milk. Hypnotic eyes, pulling me in like a mosquito to a light trap. Everything about her energy emits the feeling of danger, but it's so delicious I can do nothing to resist. One look. That's all it took for me to fall into the trap and I became helpless. One look from those smokey emerald eyes that dance with cold hearted confidence. She has done this before. She must have. How many men then, have fallen into this silent siren's trap? How many have died at her feet?

I know she has me and I don't care. I've been a very bad boy and perhaps I am about to pay dearly for it, but I must have her. Her hand is cold and surprisingly rougher than I imagined, like she's used them for some sort of physical labor...but that can't be right...she's an aristocrat.

As soon as I am on the verge of coherent thought everything in my mind is erased as that cold hand leads mine to the curve of her ample breasts and she's pressing against me. I kiss her as I squeeze them through her dress and feel dizzy and drunk on her.

"You've been busy." She says in her low, smokey voice into my ear, while breathing her hot breath onto my neck. "Two shipments out this week already."

_Wait._My mind suddenly yells. How does she know about that? My conscious mind begins to come crashing back, but it's only pushed down again when her hot, vodka flavored tongue finds my earlobe and a hand runs down my chest to grasp me through my pants. I've never been so hard in my life and her touch is an elegant dance on the threshold between pain and immense pleasure.

"Who is all that plutonium from? Hmm?" Her voice purrs into my ear as her grasp becomes a little tighter around my member and I squeeze harder at those perfect breasts. I want to back her to the wall and push that sparkly evening gown off, but I notice that we're already backed to a wall...only it's me wedged between her soft luscious body and the concrete.

I can't think. At least not about anything but fucking her. I can't- her breath is hot once again at my neck and my eyes begin to roll back a bit. "Lukas Peeters." I groan, my mouth open and panting.

"Good. Good." The siren whispers, running the tightened hand up and down my hard as a rock member through my suit pants once again and caressing my face with her fingernail tips in a way that feels dangerously predatory, but so delicious that I can't think enough to try putting together why. "And what about that contract you have-" she presses herself into me further and I bring my hand to her ass through her dress, gathering the sequined fabric in my fist and squeezing it as I imagine how it will be when it comes off "with the Russians?"

"It will be carried out tomorrow. Please-" I beg, groaning as I try to pull the back of the dress up further so I can get a hand underneath. I must have her. Now. Here. In the bathroom. I don't care. I need to fuck this woman more than I need air. I need-

"Thank you for your cooperation." I hear in a different voice that's cold and clinical and almost sarcastic. It's coming from the same woman, but it takes me a moment to realize this as I'm too distracted by the sudden loss of her breath at my neck, thick red lips at my ear, soft firm breasts under my hand.

I snap my face up to look at the woman who's now backed away several feet in what feels like an impossibly short span of milliseconds. She's looking at something high up, her eyebrows arched and lips twisted into a cocky grin.

What-

Then the thud comes and something red is pouring down my suit front. It's warm and sticky and I look back to the siren one more time as my vision starts to fade to see a muscular blonde man there with her holding a bow as I sink to the tile floor.

"What do you feel like eating tonight?" The gruff man asks, yanking a long, thick arrow back out of my chest and then, throwing a careless arm over the siren's shoulders. It hurts more than any pain I've ever experienced, but only for a split second. Then nothing hurts. Nothing feels...and I am numb.

She shrugs. I was thinking sushi...or maybe waffles."

The man chuckles as they start walking away. "You've been craving weird stuff lately."

The beautiful murderess shrugs once more as my vision fails and the last thing I ever see is her walking away casually from the bathroom.

She is the mistress of death; but it is a beautiful way to die.

**The End**

_So, to answer a few questions I've been PM'd on. This chapter takes place at an undetermined point in the future after they stroll out of S.H.I.E.L.D… at least months after, but possibly up to a couple of years later. Yes, Natasha is pregnant in this chapter. No, Clint has no clue. Yes, Natasha does know…she's not an idiot. And, finally, yes, there is a possibility of a sequel addressing everything from Tony and Pepper's wedding to the baby issue to Steve and Maria's budding __relationship if I get enough interest for one (so, if you are interested in reading a sequel, let me know!) Other than that, I hope you enjoyed the story and thanks for reading!_


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